by Tomi Adeyemi
“I’m sorry,” Kwame forces out, voice low and strained. “But I promised these people I would do anything to keep them safe.”
My mind paints the flames around his face once more, but somehow they aren’t as menacing. His magic made my blood run cold, but he fought for his people. Our people. Even the gods wouldn’t fault him for that. How can I?
Zu palms the tears away from her cheeks. In that moment she appears so much younger than the world has allowed her to be. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and pull her into my arms.
“I’m so sorry,” she cries into my shoulder.
“It’s okay.” I rub her back. “You were trying to protect your people. You did what you had to do.”
I lock eyes with Amari and Tzain, and they nod in agreement. We can’t blame her. Not when we would do the exact same thing.
“Here.” Zulaikha pulls the scroll from the pocket of her black dashiki and presses it into my hands. “Whatever you need, everyone here is behind you. They listen to me because I was the first to touch the scroll, but if what Amari said is true, you’ve been chosen by the gods. Whatever your command, we’ll all follow it.”
Discomfort bristles beneath my skin at the thought. I can’t lead these people. I can barely lead myself.
“Thank you, but you’re doing good work here. Just keep these people safe. Our job is to get to Zaria and charter a ship. The solstice is only five days away.”
“I have family in Zaria.” Folake speaks up. “Traders we can trust. If I go with you, I can get you their ship.”
“I’ll go, too.” Zulaikha grabs my hand, hope tangible in her tiny grasp. “There are enough people here for security, and I’m sure you guys could use a Healer.”
“If you’ll have me…” Kwame’s voice trails off. He clears his throat and forces himself to meet Tzain’s and Amari’s eyes. “I would like to fight with you. Fire is always a good defense.”
Tzain fixes Kwame with a cool glare, hand rubbing his wounded thigh. Though Zu stopped his bleeding, she wasn’t strong enough to take away all the pain.
“Protect my sister, or the next time you close your eyes, you’ll be the one with a dagger in the leg.”
“I can accept that.” Kwame extends a hand. Tzain reaches up and shakes it. A comfortable silence fills the tent as an apology travels between their grips.
“We have to celebrate!” A wide smile erupts on Zu’s face, so bright and innocent it makes her look like the child she should get to be. Her joy is so infectious, even Tzain finds himself with a grin. “I’ve been wanting to do something fun, a way to bring everyone in the camp together. I know it isn’t the typical time, but we should hold the Àjọy0 tomorrow.”
“Àjọy0?” I lean forward, unable to believe my ears. When I was a child, celebrating Sky Mother and the birth of the gods was the best part of my year. Baba would always purchase Mama and me matching kaftans, silk and beaded, with long trains that flowed down our backs. In the last Àjọy0 before the Raid, Mama saved up all year so she could buy gold-plated rings to braid throughout my hair.
“It would be perfect.” Zu’s voice speeds up as her excitement grows. “We could clear out tents and hold the opening procession. Find a place for the sacred stories. We could build a stage and let each maji touch the scroll. Everyone can watch their powers return!”
A prickle of hesitation runs through me, burning with the echo of Kwame’s flames. Just a day ago, turning all these divîners into maji would’ve been a dream, but for the first time I pause. More magic means more potential, more wrong hands for the sunstone to fall into. But if I keep a close eye on it … if all these divîners already follow Zu …
“What do you think?” Zu asks.
I look between her and Kwame. He breaks into a smile.
“That sounds amazing,” I decide. “It’ll be an Àjọy0 people will never forget.”
“What about the ritual?” Amari asks.
“If we leave right after the celebration, we’ll have enough time. We still have five days to get to Zaria, and using Folake’s boat will cut our time in half.”
Zu’s face goes so bright, it’s like its own source of light. She squeezes my hand, and I’m surprised at the warmth it fills me with. It’s more than another ally. It’s the start of our community.
“Then we’ll do it!” Zu grabs Amari’s hand, too, almost jumping up and down. “It’s the least we can do. I can think of no better way to honor the four of you.”
“Three,” Tzain corrects us. His terseness cuts through my budding excitement. He nods at Inan. “He’s not with us.”
Tightness gathers in my chest as Inan and Tzain lock eyes. I knew this moment was coming. I just hoped we’d have more time.
Zu nods stiffly, sensing the tension. “We’ll let you talk among yourselves. There’s a lot we have to do if we’re going to be ready for tomorrow.”
She rises to her feet, and Kwame and Folake follow, leaving us with only silence. I’m forced to stare at the scroll in my hands. What now? Where do we—are we even a “we”?
“I know this will be hard to digest.” Inan speaks first. “But things changed when you and Amari were taken. I’m aware that it’s a lot to ask, but if your sister can learn to trust me—”
Tzain whips to me, his glower hitting like a staff to the gut. His face says it all: Tell me this isn’t true.
“Tzain, if it weren’t for him, I would’ve been taken, too—”
Because he wanted to kill me himself. When the fighters attacked, he still wanted to drive his sword through my heart.
I take a breath and start over, running my hands over my staff. I can’t afford to mess this up. I need Tzain to listen to me.
“I didn’t trust him, not at first. But Inan fought by my side. When I was in danger, he threw himself in harm’s way.” My voice seems to shrink. Unable to look at anyone, I stare at my hands. “He’s seen things, felt things I could never explain to anyone else.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” Tzain crosses his arms.
“Because…” I look back at Inan. “He’s a maji.”
“What?” Amari’s jaw drops and she whips toward Inan. Though I’ve seen her eye the streak in his hair before, now the realization dawns.
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” Inan says. “It happened sometime in Lagos.”
“Right before you burned our village to the ground?” Tzain yells.
Inan clenches his jaw tight. “I didn’t know then—”
“But you knew when you cut Lekan down.”
“He attacked us. My admiral feared for our lives—”
“And when you tried to kill my sister last night? Were you a maji then?” Tzain tries to rise but grimaces, hand flying to his thigh.
“Let me help,” I start, but Tzain throws off my hand.
“Tell me you’re not this stupid.” A different kind of pain flashes behind his eyes. “You can’t trust him, Zél. Maji or not, he isn’t on our side.”
“Tzain—”
“He tried to kill you!”
“Please.” Inan speaks up. “I know you have no reason to trust me. But I don’t want to fight anymore. We all desire the same thing.”
“What’s that?” Tzain scoffs.
“A better Orïsha. A kingdom where maji like your sister don’t have to live in constant fear. I want to make it better.” Inan locks his amber eyes with mine. “I want to fix it with you.”
I force myself to look away, afraid of what my face will betray. I turn to Tzain, hoping something in Inan’s words moved him. But he’s clenching his fists so hard his forearms shake.
“Tzain—”
“Forget it.” He rises with a wince and heads for the tent exit, fighting through the pain in his leg. “You’re always screwing everything up. Why stop now?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
AMARI
“INAN, WAIT!”
I push through the divîners filling the grassy walkway be
tween two long rows of tents. Their curious gazes add a weight to my step, but they’re not enough to distract me from the questions filling my head. When Tzain left, Zélie ran after him, trying in vain to make him understand. But then my brother ran after her, leaving me all alone in that tent.
Inan stops when he hears my voice, though he doesn’t turn around. His eyes follow Zélie, trailing her as she disappears into the crowd. When he turns to me, I don’t know which question I should ask first.
It’s as if I’m back inside the palace walls, so close to him, yet always worlds apart.
“You should have Zulaikha heal that.” He grabs my wrists, inspecting the dark red bruises and dried blood where the ropes cut through my skin. Distracting myself from the pain was easy when I was carrying Tzain, but now the throbbing is constant, burning wherever the cool wind hits my exposed flesh.
“When she’s rested.” I pull my hands back, crossing my arms to hide them. “She’s too drained after healing Tzain and she still needs to take care of Jailin. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“She reminds me of you.” Inan smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You used to get that crazed look on your face when you had an idea and you knew you would get your way.”
I know the look he speaks of; he had one of his own. He’d get a smile so wide his nose would scrunch up and his eyes would nearly crinkle closed. It’s that look that got me out of bed at night, to sneak into the royal stables or dive headfirst into a barrel of sugar in the kitchen. Back when things were simpler. Before Father and Orïsha wedged themselves between us.
“I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” Inan reaches inside his pocket. I expect a death threat from Father. I can hardly breathe when I see the glint of my old headdress.
“How?” My voice cracks when he places it in my hand.
Though dented, rusted, and stained with blood, holding it warms my chest. It’s like getting a little piece of Binta back.
“I’ve been carrying it since Sokoto. Thought you would want it back.”
I clutch the headdress to my chest and stare at him, a wave of gratitude rushing through me. But the gratitude only makes our reality worse.
“Are you really a maji?” The question fights its way out as I study the white streak in Inan’s hair. Headdress or not, I still don’t understand: What are his powers? Why him and not me? If the gods ordain who receives their gifts, what made them choose Inan?
Inan nods, running his hands through the streak. “I don’t know how or why. It happened when I touched the scroll in Lagos.”
“Does Father know?”
“Am I still breathing?” Inan attempts to keep his voice light, but the pain breaks through. The image of the sword that cut Binta forces itself into my mind. It’s far too easy to imagine Father plunging that sword into Inan’s chest as well.
“How could you?”
Every other question vanishes as the only one that matters finally comes out. I feel every time I defended him to Zélie balloon inside me. I thought I knew my brother’s true heart. Now I’m not sure I know him at all.
“I can understand being under Father’s influence, but he’s not here,” I press. “How am I ever supposed to trust you when you’ve been fighting against yourself this entire time?”
Inan’s shoulders slump. He scratches the back of his neck.
“You can’t,” he replies. “But I’ll earn your trust. I promise.”
In another life, those words would be enough, but Binta’s death still scars my memories. I can’t help but think of all the signs, every chance I had to release her from palace life. If I had only been more vigilant then, my friend would still be alive.
“These people.” I clutch her headdress. “They mean the world to me. I love you, Inan, but I won’t allow you to hurt the maji the way you’ve hurt me.”
“I know.” Inan nods. “But I swear on the throne, that is not my aim. Zélie’s taught me how wrong I was about the maji. I know I’ve made mistakes.”
His voice softens when he speaks Zélie’s name, as if recalling a fond memory. More questions bubble inside me as he turns to search for her in the crowd, but for now I push them back down. I can’t begin to fathom what she did to change my brother’s mind, but the only thing that matters now is that this change is here for good.
“For your sake, I hope you don’t make any more.”
Inan eyes me, face difficult to read as he looks me up and down.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise. If I suspect any treachery, it’ll be my sword you’ll have to face.”
It wouldn’t be the first time our swords clashed. It certainly won’t be like the last.
“I’ll prove myself to you, to all of you,” Inan declares. “You’re on the right side of this. My only desire is to stand there as well.”
“Good.” I lean forward to hug him, holding on to his promise.
But when his hands wrap around my back, all I can think of are how his fingers are resting just above my scars.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ZÉLIE
THE NEXT MORNING ZU is quick to bound into my tent.
“There’s so much I have to show you.” She shakes my arm. “Zélie, come on. It’s almost midday!”
With enough prodding, I concede and sit up, working through the new coils in my hair to scratch my scalp.
“Be quick.” Zu shoves a sleeveless red dashiki into my arms. “Everyone’s waiting outside.”
When she leaves, I offer Tzain a smile, but he keeps his back to me. Even though I can tell he’s awake, he doesn’t make a sound. The uncomfortable silence that burned between us last night returns, the frustrated sighs and empty words filling our tent. No matter how many times I apologized, Tzain wouldn’t respond.
“Do you want to come?” I ask quietly. “A walk could be good for your leg.”
Nothing. It’s like I’m speaking to the air.
“Tzain…”
“I’m staying.” He shifts and stretches his neck. “I don’t feel like walking with everyone.”
I remember Zu’s words. I assumed she meant Kwame and Folake, but Inan’s probably right outside. If Tzain’s still this upset, seeing Inan will only make everything worse.
“Okay.” I slip into the dashiki and tie my hair back with a blue-and-red-patterned scarf Zu lent me. “I’ll be back soon. I’ll try to bring you some food.”
“Thanks.”
I latch onto the response, repeating it in my head. If Tzain can manage a grumble of gratitude now, maybe things will turn out alright.
“Zél.” He looks over his shoulder, meeting my eye. “Be careful. I don’t want you alone with him.”
I nod and leave the tent, the weight of Tzain’s warning dragging me down. But as soon as I step into the camp, all the heaviness evaporates.
Sunlight fills the spacious valley; every acre of the lush greens explodes with life. Young divîners bustle through the maze of pop-up shacks, tents, and carts. Each person shines with white hair and vibrant patterns woven throughout their dashikis and spirited kaftans. It’s like Sky Mother’s promise laid before my eyes, come to life after all this time.
“Gods.” I spin, taking it all in as Zu waves me over. I’ve never seen so many divîners in one spot, especially with so much … joy. The crowd laughs and smiles through the hills, white hair braided, dreaded, and flowing. An unfamiliar freedom breathes in their shoulders, in their gait, in their eyes.
“Look out!”
I throw my hands up, smiling as a group of young children run past. The oldest among the crowd look to be in their twenties, none older than twenty-five. Of all the divîners before us, they’re the most bewildering to see; never in my life have I encountered so many grown divîners outside the prison cells or the stocks.
“Finally!” Zu hooks her arm in mine, sporting a smile almost too big for her face. She pulls me past the yellow-painted cart where Inan and Amari are waiting. Amari grins when she sees me, b
ut her face falls when she doesn’t find Tzain.
“He wanted to rest,” I answer her unasked question. And he didn’t want to see your brother.
Inan looks at me, handsome in a cobalt kaftan with fitted, patterned pants. He looks different without the harsh lines and jagged metal of his uniform. Softer. Warmer. His streak flashes bright in his hair, for once not hidden behind a helmet or black dye. Our eyes linger on each other, but it takes only a second for Zu to whip between us and pull us both along.
“We’ve made progress, but we still have a ways to go if we’re going to be ready for tonight.” She seems to speak a million meters a second, always discovering something new she has to say before finishing her last thought.
“This is where the old stories are going to be.” Zu points to a makeshift stage occupying a grassy knoll between two tents. “There’s a divîner from Jimeta who’s telling them. You have to meet her, she’s enchanting. We think she’ll be a Tider. Oh, and this! This is where we’ll have the divîners touch the scroll. I can’t wait to watch that, it’ll be incredible!”
Zulaikha moves through the crowd with the magnetism of a queen. Divîners stop and stare as she passes, pointing and whispering about us because she’s holding my hand. Usually I hate when others stare, but today I find myself reveling in it. It’s not like the guards or kosidán, who want me to disappear. The divîners’ gazes hold a reverence, a new kind of respect.
“Here’s the best part.” Zu gestures to a large clearing being decorated with painted lanterns and colorful sheets. “This is where the opening procession will take place. Zélie, you must be in it!”
“Oh, you don’t want that.” I shake my head fervently, but I laugh when Zu grabs my wrist and jumps up and down. Her joy is contagious; even Inan can’t help but smile.
“You would be so great!” Her eyes go wide. “We don’t have a Reaper yet, and Oya’s attire would fit you perfectly. It has this long red skirt and golden top—Inan! Don’t you think she would look incredible?”