Children of Blood and Bone (Legacy of Orisha)

by Tomi Adeyemi

  “That boy is a divîner.” I point to the captive. “What if there are more behind that wall? They have the scroll now. We don’t know what we’ll have to face.”

  “Of course. The scroll. Always the scroll. How stupid am I to think this could be about rescuing my brother or your sister—”

  “Zélie—”

  “Come up with a new plan,” she demands. “If there are divîners behind that wall and you summon the guards, we won’t get our siblings back. They’ll all die as soon as your soldiers arrive.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “Bring the guards into this, and I’ll tell them your secret.” She crosses her arms. “When they come for us, I’ll make sure they kill you, too.”

  My insides twist and I step back. Kaea’s blade strikes back into my mind. The fear in her grip. The hatred in her eyes.

  A strange sadness settles in me as I reach into my pocket and wrap my hand around Father’s pawn. I bite back all the words I want to shoot back. If only she was wrong.

  “Then what do you propose we do without guards?” I push. “I don’t see a way past that wall without a fighting force.”

  Zélie turns back to the camp and wraps her arms around herself. She shivers even though the humidity around us makes me perspire.

  “I’ll get us in,” she finally says. “Once we break through, we go our separate ways.”

  Though she doesn’t say it, I know she’s thinking about the scroll. Once those walls come down, the fight for it will be fiercer than ever.

  “What kind of plan do you have in mind?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “It is when I’m putting my life in your hands.”

  Her eyes flick to me. Sharp. Untrusting. But then she presses her hands into the ground. A hum ignites in the air.

  “4mí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—”

  Her words bend the earth to her will. It creaks and crumbles and cracks. An earthly figure rises beneath her touch. Brought to life by the magic of her hands.

  “Skies,” I curse at her power. When did she learn this trick? But she doesn’t care what I know; she turns back to the camp.

  “They’re called animations,” she says. “They follow my command.”

  “How many can you make?”

  “At least eight, maybe more.”

  “That won’t do.” I shake my head.

  “They’re powerful.”

  “There’re too many fighters down there. We need a stronger force—”

  “Fine.” Zélie turns on her heel. “If we’re attacking tomorrow night, I’ll figure out how to make more in the morning.”

  She starts to walk away, but pauses.

  “And a piece of advice, little prince. Don’t put your life in my hands unless you want that life to end.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  ZÉLIE

  BEADS OF SWEAT soak through my cropped dashiki and drip onto the mountain stone. My muscles shake with the strain of practicing a hundred incantations, but Inan doesn’t let up. He rises from our latest skirmish, brushing hardened earth from his bare chest. Though a red welt swells on his cheek from my last animation, Inan squares his stance.

  “Again.”

  “Dammit,” I pant. “Just give me a break.”

  “There’s no time for a break. If you can’t do this, we need another plan.”

  “The plan is fine,” I say through my teeth. “What else do you need to prove that? They’ll be strong, we won’t need that many—”

  “There are over fifty fighters down there, Zélie. Armed, battle-ready men. If you think eight animations will be enough—”

  “It’s more than enough for you!” I point to the bruise forming on Inan’s eye, to the blood staining the right sleeve of his kaftan. “You can barely fight one. What makes you think they can handle more?”

  “Because there are fifty of them!” Inan shouts. “I’m not even at half my strength. I should hardly be your gauge.”

  “Then prove me wrong, little prince.” I clench my fists, eager to draw more of his royal blood. “Show me how weak I am. Show me how strong you really are!”

  “Zélie—”

  “Enough!” I roar, pressing my palms into the ground. For the first time my spiritual pathways unlock without an incantation; my ashê drains and the animations flow. With a rumble, they come to life, rising from the earth at my silent command. Inan’s eyes widen as ten animations charge across the hill.

  But in the brief moment before the attack, his gaze narrows. A vein bulges against his throat. His muscles tense against his strong build. His magic surfaces like a warm breeze, heating the air around us.

  He cuts through two animations; they crumble into dirt. He strikes like lightning against the others, dodging and attacking at the same time. Dammit. I bite the inside of my cheek and chew. He’s faster than the average guard.

  Deadlier than the typical prince.

  “4mí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—” I chant again, giving three more animations new life. I hope the rush will slow Inan down, but after a few frenzied seconds, he stands alone. Sweat rolls down his forehead, dried soil crunches under his feet.

  Twelve animations later and still, he stands.

  “Satisfied?” Though he pants, he looks more alive than I’ve ever seen him. Sweat glistens off the curves of his muscles; for once he’s more than skin and bone. His face flushes red with color as he stabs his sword into a crack in the ground. “If I can take down twelve at full strength, how do you think fifty fighters will fare?”

  I press my palms into the cliff. I’ll make an animation he can’t defeat. The ground rumbles, but my ashê is too drained to breathe new spirit soldiers. Without resorting to blood magic, I can’t do it. No matter how hard I strain, no animations spring forth.

  Whether Inan sees my desperation on my face or senses it with his magic, I don’t know. He pinches the bridge of his nose, all but stifling a low groan.

  “Zélie—”

  “No,” I cut him off. My eyes drift toward my pack. The sunstone lies beneath the leather, silently tempting me.

  If I used it, I could conjure more than enough animations to take down fifty fighters. But Inan doesn’t know I have it. And if those masked figures are after the scroll, they’ll want the sunstone, too. My frustration grows, though I know I’m right. I have a chance at retrieving the scroll and the bone dagger, but if the sunstone falls into the wrong maji’s hands, they’ll become too powerful for me to ever get it back.

  But if I used blood magic …

  I look down at my hand; the bite marks around my thumb have just begun to scar. A blood sacrifice would be more than enough, but after what happened in the arena in Ibeji, I never want to use blood magic again.

  Inan stares at me with expectant eyes, solidifying my answer. I can’t use either.

  “I just need more time.”

  “We don’t have time.” Inan runs his hand through his hair; the white streak seems wider now than it did before. “You’re not even close. If you can’t do this, we need to summon the guards.”

  He takes a deep breath, and the warmth of his magic begins to fade. The color drains from his skin. His vigor dies as he pushes his magic away.

  It’s like the very life is being sucked out of him.

  “Maybe the problem isn’t me.” My voice cracks and I close my eyes. I hate him for making me feel weak. I hate him for weakening himself. “If you would just use your magic, we wouldn’t need guards.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “My magic doesn’t have offensive capabilities.”

  “Are you sure?” I press, remembering Mama’s stories, Lekan’s pictures of the Connectors. “You’ve never stunned anyone? You’ve never cast a mental attack?”

  A flicker passes across his face, something I can’t read. He clenches the handle of his sword and looks away. The air grows colder as he pushes his magic even further down.

  “For go
ds’ sakes, Inan. Have some resolve. If your magic could help save Amari, why aren’t you doing everything you can?” I step closer to him, trying to put gentleness in my tone. “I’ll keep your stupid secret. If we use your magic to attack—”

  “No!”

  I jump back at the force of Inan’s words.

  “My answer is no.” He swallows hard. “I can’t. I’m never doing that again. I know you’re wary of the guards, but I’m their prince. I promise you, I will keep them under control—”

  I turn on my heel, walking back toward the ledge of the hill’s incline. When Inan shouts my name, I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to smack him with my staff. I’ll never save my brother. I’ll never get back the dagger or the scroll. I shake my head, fighting the swirl of emotions that wants to explode.

  “Zélie—”

  “Tell me, little prince.” I whip around. “What hurts more? The feeling you get when you use your magic or the pain of pushing it all down?”

  Inan jerks back. “You can’t possibly understand.”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly.” I get in his face, close enough to see the stubble dotting his cheeks. “You would let your sister die and see all of Orïsha burn if it meant keeping your magic a secret.”

  “Keeping my magic a secret is how I keep Orïsha safe!” The air warms as his powers surge. “Magic is the root of all our problems. It’s the root of Orïsha’s pain!”

  “Your father is the root of Orïsha’s pain!” My voice shakes with anger. “He’s a tyrant and a coward. That’s all he’ll ever be!”

  “My father is your king.” Inan closes in. “A king trying to protect his people. He took magic away so Orïsha would be safe.”

  “That monster took magic away so that he could slaughter thousands. He took magic away so the innocent couldn’t defend themselves!”

  Inan pauses. The air continues to warm as guilt creeps into his expression.

  “He did what he thought was right.” He speaks slowly. “But he wasn’t wrong to take magic away. He was wrong for the oppression that followed.”

  I dig my hands into my hair, skin growing hot at Inan’s ignorance. How can he defend his father? How can he not see what’s truly going on?

  “Our lack of power and our oppression are one and the same, Inan. Without power we’re maggots. Without power the monarchy treats us like scum!”

  “Power is not the answer. It will only intensify the fight. Maybe you can’t trust my father, but if you could learn to trust me, to trust my guards—”

  “Trust the guards?” I scream so loud there’s no doubt every fighter hidden in this godsforsaken forest hears my voice quake. “The same guards who chained my mother by her neck? The guards who beat my father half to death? The guards who grope me whenever they have a chance, just waiting for the day they can take everything when I’m forced into the stocks?”

  Inan’s eyes grow wide, but he presses, “The guards I know are good. They keep Lagos safe—”

  “My gods.” I stalk away. I can’t listen to this. I’m a fool for thinking we could ever work together.

  “Hey,” he yells. “I’m talking to you.”

  “I’m done talking, little prince. Clearly you’ll never understand.”

  “I could say the same thing!” He runs after me with labored steps. “You don’t need magic to fix things.”

  “Leave me alone—”

  “If you could just see where I’m coming from—”

  “Go—”

  “You don’t have to be afraid—”

  “I am always afraid!”

  I don’t know what shocks me more—the power in my voice or the words themselves.

  Afraid.

  I am always afraid.

  It’s a truth I locked away years ago, a fact I fought hard to overcome. Because when it hits, I’m paralyzed.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t talk.

  All at once, I crumple to the ground, clasping my palm over my mouth to stifle the sobs. It doesn’t matter how strong I get, how much power my magic wields. They will always hate me in this world.

  I will always be afraid.

  “Zélie—”

  “No,” I breathe through my sobs. “Stop. You think you know what it’s like, but you don’t. You never will.”

  “Then help me.” Inan kneels by my side, careful to keep his distance. “Please. I want to understand.”

  “You can’t. They built this world for you, built it to love you. They never cursed at you in the streets, never broke down the doors of your home. They didn’t drag your mother by her neck and hang her for the whole world to see.”

  Now that the truth is out, there’s nothing I can do to stop. My chest billows as I sob. My fingers tremble at the terror.

  Afraid.

  The truth cuts like the sharpest knife I’ve ever known.

  No matter what I do, I will always be afraid.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  INAN

  ZÉLIE’S PAIN FALLS through the air like rain.

  It sinks into my skin.

  My chest heaves with her sobs. My heart rips with her anguish.

  And all the while I feel a terror unlike anything I’ve ever known. It crushes my soul.

  It destroys all will to live.

  This can’t be her world.…

  This can’t be the life Father built. But the longer her pain grips me, the more I realize: this fear is always there.

  “If your guards were here, everything would be just as broken, just as hopeless. There’s no living under their tyranny. Our only salvation is power.”

  As soon as the words leave her mouth, Zélie’s sobs quiet. It’s like she’s remembered a deeper truth. A way to escape the pain.

  “Your people, your guards—they’re nothing more than killers, rapists, and thieves. The only difference between them and criminals is the uniforms they wear.”

  She pulls herself to her feet and palms the tears from her eyes.

  “Fool yourself all you want, little prince, but don’t feign innocence with me. I won’t let your father get away with what he’s done. I won’t let your ignorance silence my pain.”

  With that, she disappears. Her quiet footsteps fade into the silence.

  In that moment I realize how wrong I’ve truly been.

  It doesn’t matter if I’m in her head.

  I’ll never understand all her pain.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  AMARI

  THERE WAS A ROOM in the palace that Father disappeared into. Every day, always at half past noon.

  He would rise from his throne and walk through the main hall, Admiral Ebele on one side, Commander Kaea on the other.

  Before the Raid, I would trail behind them, curiosity driving my small legs. Every day I watched them disappear down those cold marble stairs until the day I decided to follow them instead.

  My legs were so short I had to grip the alabaster railing, scooting from step to step. I imagined a room full of moín moín pies and lemon cakes, the shining toys that might lie in wait. But as I neared the bottom, I didn’t smell the sweet tang of citrus and sugar. I didn’t hear joy or laughter. The cold cellar only held shouts.

  Only a young boy’s screams.

  A loud crack rang through the air—Kaea’s fist against a servant’s face. Kaea wore sharp rings on her fingers; when she smacked the servant, the rings cut into his skin.

  I must have screamed when I saw the bloodied boy. I must have screamed, because they all turned to stare. I didn’t know the servant’s name. I just knew he was the one who made my bed.

  Father picked me up and rested me against his hip, carrying me out without a passing glance. “Prisons are no place for a princess,” he said that day.

  Another crack rang as Kaea’s fist made contact again.

  As the sun sets and the long day passes into night, I think back to Father’s words. I have to wonder what he would say if he could see me now. Perhaps he would string me up himself.<
br />
  I ignore the strain in my shoulders and pull at my restraints, wriggling though the rope burns my wrists red and raw. After dragging the rope back and forth across a jagged piece of bark all day, the fibers are fraying, but I need to wear it down further to break free.

  “Skies,” I sigh as sweat gathers above my lips. For the tenth time, I search the tent for something sharper. Yet the only thing in here besides Tzain is dirt.

  The one time I got a glimpse of the outside was when Folake entered to bring us water. Behind the tent flap, I caught Kwame glowering. The bone dagger still sat in his hand.

  A shudder runs through me and I close my eyes, forcing a deep breath. I can’t get the image of the dagger pressed against Tzain’s neck out of my head. If it weren’t for the faint whistle of his breathing, I wouldn’t be sure he was still alive. Folake cleaned and bandaged his wound, but he has yet to do so much as stir.

  I need to get him out of here before they come back. I need to find a way to save him, the dagger, and the scroll. A full night has already passed. We only have five days left until the centennial solstice.

  The tent flap swings open and I pause my movements. Zu has finally returned. Today she sports a black kaftan, sweet with the green and yellow beads stitched into its hem. Instead of the militant child who entered last night, she looks more like the young girl she is.

  “Who are you?” I ask. “What is it you want?”

  She barely spares me a glance. Instead she kneels by Tzain’s side.

  “Please.” My heartbeat quickens in my chest. “He’s innocent. Don’t hurt him.”

  Zu closes her eyes and lays her small hands over the bandages on Tzain’s head. My breath hitches when a soft orange light radiates from her palm. Though weak at first, it glows, brighter and brighter, creating a warmth that fills the tent. The light from her hands grows until it encompasses all of Tzain’s head.

  Magic …

  The same awe that struck when light escaped Binta’s hands hits me now. Like Binta, Zu’s magic is beautiful, so different from the horrors of what Father taught me to believe. But how is she doing this? How has her magic come so far so fast? She must’ve been a baby when the Raid occurred. Where did she learn the incantation she’s whispering now?