Children of Blood and Bone (Legacy of Orisha)

by Tomi Adeyemi

  “What’re you doing to him?”

  Zu doesn’t answer, teeth clenched in a grimace. Beads of sweat form at her temple. The slightest quiver rocks her hand. A light fills Tzain’s skin as his visible cuts shrink into nothingness. The black and purple bruises fade completely, restoring him to the handsome boy who’s fought by my side.

  “Thank the skies.” My body relaxes as Tzain grunts, the first sound he’s made since we were abducted. Though he remains unconscious, he stirs slightly against his rope.

  “You’re a Healer?” I ask.

  Zu glances at me, though it’s like she doesn’t see me at all. She focuses on the scratches on my skin like she’s searching for more things she can fix. It’s as if her need to heal isn’t only in her magic, it’s in her heart.

  “Please,” I try once more. “We are not your enemy.”

  “Yet you have our scroll?”

  Our? I focus on the word. It can’t be a coincidence that she, Kwame, and Folake are all maji. There must be more outside this tent.

  “We weren’t alone. The girl Kwame couldn’t apprehend was a maji, a powerful Reaper. We’ve been to Chândomblé. A sêntaro revealed the secrets of that scroll—”

  “You’re lying.” Zu crosses her arms. “A kosidán like you would never meet a sêntaro. Who are you really? Where is the rest of the army?”

  “I’m telling you the truth.” My shoulders slump. “Just like I told Kwame. If neither of you will believe me, there’s nothing I can do.”

  Zu sighs and removes the scroll from inside her kaftan. As she unravels it, her hard exterior drops. A wave of sadness settles in. “The last time I saw this, I was cowering under a fishing boat. I was forced to sit and watch as royal guards cut my sister down.”

  Skies …

  Zu has the same eastern drawl in her voice. She must have been in Warri when Kaea recovered the scroll. Kaea thought that she killed all the new maji, but Zu, Kwame, and Folake must have found a way to survive.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I cannot imagine what that must’ve been like.”

  Zu stays silent for a long moment. A weariness weighs her down that makes her seem so much older than her young years.

  “I was a baby when the Raid happened. I don’t even remember what my parents looked like. All I remember was feeling afraid.” Zu bends down, yanking the wild grass at her feet until their roots rip from the ground. “I always wondered what it would be like to live with the memories of something so horrible. I don’t have to imagine what that’s like anymore.”

  Binta’s face breaks into my mind; her bright smile, her dazzling lights. For a moment the memory shines in all its old glory.

  Then it turns red, drowning in her blood.

  “You’re a noble.” Zu rises and walks toward me, a new fire alight in her eyes. “I can practically smell it on you. I won’t let your monarchy take us down.”

  “I’m on your side.” I shake my head. “Release me, and I can prove that to you. The scroll can do more than give magic back to those who touch it. It has a ritual that will bring magic back throughout the land.”

  “I can see why Kwame has his guard up.” Zu steps away. “He thinks you’ve been sent to infiltrate us. With such clever lies, I think he could be right.”

  “Zu, please—”

  “Kwame.” Her voice cracks. She clutches the neckline of her kaftan as he enters.

  He runs his fingers over the blade of the bone dagger, threat evident on his face.

  “Is it time?”

  Zu’s chin quivers as she nods. She squeezes her eyes shut.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “But we have to protect ourselves.”

  “Go,” Kwame instructs her. “You don’t need to see this.”

  Zu rubs her tears and backs out of the tent, sparing me one last look. When she’s gone, Kwame steps into my line of vision.

  “I hope you’re ready to tell the truth.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  INAN

  “ZÉLIE?”

  I shout her name, though I doubt she’ll answer my call. After the way she ran away from me earlier, part of me wonders if I’ll be able to find her at all.

  The sun begins to set, disappearing behind hills on the horizon. Twisting shadows stretch around me as I lean against a tree to rest.

  “Zélie, please,” I call between pants, gripping the bark when an ache cuts through my core. Since our argument, my magic scalds with a vengeance. Just breathing causes sharp spasms throughout my chest. “Zélie, I’m sorry.”

  But as the apology echoes through the forest, the words feel hollow—I don’t know what I’m sorry for. Not understanding or for being Father’s son? Any apology seems insurmountable against everything he’s already done.

  “A new Orïsha,” I mutter. Now that I say it aloud, it sounds even more ludicrous. How am I supposed to fix anything when I’m inextricably linked to the problem?

  Skies.

  Zélie’s done more than mess with my head. Her very presence unravels everything I’ve been led to think, everything I know I need. Night falls upon us, and we still don’t have a plan. Without her animations, we’ll lose everything to these masks. Our siblings, the scroll—

  A stinging pain stabs my abdomen. I keel over, gripping the trunk for support. Like a wild leopanaire, my magic claws its way to the surface.

  “Mama!”

  I close my eyes. My mind echoes with Zélie’s shrieks. Bitter cries no child should ever make. Trauma she never should’ve witnessed.

  For magic to disappear for good, every maji had to die. As long as they’d tasted that power, they would never stop fighting to bring it back.

  Father’s face enters my mind. Voice steady. Eyes blank.

  I believed him.

  Despite the fear I felt, I admired his unwavering strength.

  “Could you be any louder?”

  My eyes snap open; for some reason, my magic calms in Zélie’s presence.

  “With you wailing like that, I’m surprised the fighters haven’t taken you as well.”

  Zélie steps forward, further calming my magic. Her spirit settles over me like a cool ocean breeze as I slide to the ground.

  “It’s not my fault,” I breathe through my teeth. “It hurts.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt if you embraced it. Your magic attacks you because you fight it back.”

  Her face stays hard, but I’m surprised at the hint of pity in her tone. She moves out of the shadows and leans against a tree. Her silver eyes are red and swollen, signs of tears spilled long after our fight.

  Suddenly, reliving the pain of her past doesn’t feel like punishment enough. I suffer for moments. The poor girl’s suffered her entire life.

  “Does this mean you’ll fight with me?” I ask.

  Zélie crosses her arms. “I don’t have a choice. Tzain and Amari are still trapped. I can’t get them out on my own.”

  “But what about the animations?”

  Zélie pulls a glowing orb from her pack; instantly, Kaea’s old conversations play in my head. With the way oranges and reds pulse beneath the crystal exterior, this object can only be the sunstone.

  “If they’re after the scroll, they’ll want this, too.”

  “You’ve had that the whole time?”

  “I didn’t want to risk losing it, but it’ll help me make all the animations we need.”

  I nod; for once her plan is sound. This should be enough, but it’s about so much more than that now.

  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.

  Her words echo in my mind, no longer a staff pressed against my sword.

  After everything that’s happened, we can’t go back. One of us must yield.

  “You asked me what hurts more.” I force the words out, though they want to stay in. “The sensation of using my magic or the pain of pushing it down. I don’t know the ans
wer.” I grip the tarnished sênet pawn, focusing on the way it stings against my palm. “I hate it all.”

  The threat of tears pricks at my eyes. I clear my throat, desperate to keep them down. I can only imagine how fast Father’s fist would fly if he could see me now.

  “I hate my magic.” I lower my voice. “I despise the way it poisons me. But more than anything, I hate the way it makes me hate myself.” It takes more strength than I have to lift my head and meet Zélie’s gaze. Looking at her stirs up every single shame.

  Zélie’s eyes water once more. I don’t know what chord I’ve struck. Her sea-salt soul seems to shrink away. For the first time, I want it to stay.

  “Your magic isn’t poison.” Her voice shakes. “You are. You push it down, you fight it back. You carry around that pathetic toy.” She stomps over and rips the sênet pawn out of my hand, shoving it in my face. “This is majacite, you idiot. I’m surprised all your fingers haven’t fallen off.”

  I stare at the tarnished pawn, the gold and brown rust hiding its original color. I always thought the piece was painted black, but could it really have been made of majacite the whole time?

  I take it from her hands, holding it gently, feeling the way it pricks my skin. All this time I thought I was just squeezing too tight.

  Of course …

  I almost laugh at the irony. The realization brings me back to the moment I got it. The day Father “gifted” it to me.

  Before the Raid, we played sênet every week. An hour where Father became more than a king. Every piece and move was a lesson, wisdom for the day I would lead.

  But after the Raid, there was no time for games. No time for me. One day I made the mistake of carrying the game into the throne room and Father threw the pieces in my face.

  Leave it, he barked when I bent down to pick them up. Servants clean. Kings don’t.

  This pawn was the only piece I managed to salvage.

  Shame ripples through me as I stare at the tarnished metal.

  The only gift he’s ever given me, and at its core is hate.

  “This belonged to my father,” I speak quietly. A secret weapon taken from others who despised magic. Created to destroy others like me.

  “You clutch it the way a child clutches a blanket.” Zélie releases a heavy sigh. “You fight for a man who will always hate you just because of what you are.”

  Like her hair, her silver gaze glows in the moonlight, more piercing than any eyes that have ever seen through me. I stare.

  I stare though I need to talk.

  I drop the pawn in the dirt and kick it aside. I must draw a line in the sand. I’ve been a sheep. A sheep when my kingdom needed me to act like a king.

  Duty before self.

  The creed unravels before my eyes, taking Father’s lies with it. Magic may be dangerous, but the sins of eradicating it have made the monarchy no better.

  “I know you can’t trust me, but give me this chance to prove myself. I’ll get us into that camp. I’ll bring your brother back.”

  Zélie bites her lip. “And when we find the scroll?”

  I hesitate; Father’s face flashes in my mind. If we don’t stop magic, all of Orïsha will burn.

  But the only fires I’ve seen have been by his hand. His and mine. I’ve given him a lifetime. I can’t abide by any more of his lies.

  “It’s yours,” I decide. “Whatever you and Amari are trying to do … I won’t stand in your way.”

  I hold out my hand and she stares at it; I don’t know if my words are enough. But after a long moment, she places her palm in mine. A strange warmth fills me at her touch.

  To my surprise, her hands are calloused, perhaps toughened from using her staff. When we let go, we avoid each other’s eyes, instead staring at the night sky.

  “So we’re doing this?” she asks.

  I nod. “I’ll show you what type of king I can be.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  ZÉLIE

  OYA, PLEASE LET THIS WORK.

  I lift up a silent prayer as my heart thumps against my chest. We move through the shadows, crouching at the periphery of the masks’ camp. My plan seemed perfect before, but now that it’s time, I can’t stop thinking of all the ways it could fail. What if Tzain and Amari aren’t inside? What if we have to face off against a maji? And what about Inan?

  I glance at him, dread building at the sight. My plan starts with me handing the little prince the sunstone; either I’ve lost my mind, or I’ve already lost this fight.

  Inan peers ahead, jaw tight as he takes a count of the guards surrounding the gate. Instead of his usual armor, he wears the black attire the captive fighter wore.

  I still can’t tell what to make of him, of all the things he made me feel. Watching his misguided hate brought me back, wrapping me in the darkest days after the Raid. I despised magic. I blamed Mama.

  I cursed the gods for making us this way.

  A lump forms in my throat as I try to forget that old pain. I can still feel the shadow of the lie inside, pushing me to hate my blood, rip out my white hair.

  It almost ate me alive, the self-hatred spun from Saran’s lies. But he already took Mama. I couldn’t let him take the truth, too.

  In the moons following the Raid, I held on to Mama’s teachings, embedding them in my heart until they ran through me like blood. No matter what the world said, my magic was beautiful. Even without powers, the gods had blessed me with a gift.

  But Inan’s tears brought it all back, the lethal lie this world forces us to swallow. Saran did well.

  Inan already hates himself more than I ever could.

  “Alright,” he whispers. “It’s time.”

  It takes an unusual amount of effort to unclench my fingers and hand him my leather pack.

  “Don’t overextend yourself,” he warns. “And remember, keep some animations behind to provide a defense.”

  “I know, I know.” I roll my eyes. “Get on with it.”

  Though I don’t want to feel anything, my stomach clenches as Inan emerges from the shadows and stalks toward the gate. The memory of his rough hand in my own comes back to me. A strange comfort filled me from his touch.

  The two masked figures posted at the entrance point their weapons. The ones hidden in the shadows shift as well. From above, I hear a chorus of plucks: bowstrings with arrows being pulled taut.

  Though I know Inan can sense it all, he walks with brash confidence. He doesn’t stop until he’s hundreds of meters ahead, halfway between me and the entrance.

  “I’ve come to make a trade,” he declares. “I have something you want.”

  He drops my pack to the ground and removes the sunstone. I should’ve prepared him for the rush. Even from afar, I hear a gasp.

  A tremor runs from his hands to his head, his palms pulsing with a soft blue light. I wonder if Orí appears behind his eyes.

  The show is exactly what the masks needs. A few slither out of the shadows and begin to circle him, weapons raised and ready to strike.

  “On your knees,” a masked woman barks, cautiously leading the charge outside the gate. She points her ax and gives a nod, drawing more of their fighters out of hiding.

  Gods. There are already more than we bargained for. Forty … fifty … sixty? How many more aim at him from the trees?

  “Bring out the prisoners first.”

  “After you’re restrained.”

  The wooden gate swings open. Inan surveys the female leader and takes a step back.

  “I’m sorry.” Inan turns. “I’m afraid I can’t make that deal.”

  I bolt from the underbrush, sprinting as fast as my legs will take me. Inan hurls the sunstone like an agbön ball, thrusting with all his might. It sails through the air with impressive speed. I have to leap to catch it. I clutch it to my chest and somersault as I hit the ground.

  “Ah!” I wheeze as the sunstone fills me, an intoxicating rush I’m beginning to crave. Heat explodes under my skin as its power surges, igniting a
ll the ashê in my blood.

  Behind my eyes a different glimpse of Oya plays, red silks luminescent against her black skin. Wind swirls her skirts and twists in her hair, making the beads dance around her face.

  A white light radiates from her palm as she reaches out her hand. I can’t feel my body, yet I feel myself reaching back. In one fleeting moment, our fingers brush—

  The world rumbles to life.

  “Get her!”

  Someone cries beyond me, but I can’t truly hear it. Magic roars from my blood, amplifying spirits far and wide. They call to me, rising like a tsunami wave. Their thrum overpowers the sounds of the living.

  Like tides pulled by the moon, the souls crash into me.

  “4mí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—”

  I thrust my hand into the earth. A deep fracture ripples through it at my touch.

  The ground beneath us groans as an army of the dead rises from the dirt.

  They swirl out of the ground, a hurricane of twigs and rocks and soil. Their bodies harden with the silver glow of my magic. I unleash the storm.

  “Attack!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  AMARI

  A SHARP CRACK rings through the air.

  I reel as Kwame’s fist crashes into Tzain’s jaw.

  Tzain’s head lolls to the side, a mess of reds and blacks and bruises.

  “Stop it!” I scream, tears spilling down my cheeks. Fresh blood drips into Tzain’s eye, undoing all of Zu’s healing.

  Kwame pivots and grabs my chin. “Who else knows you’re here? Where are the rest of your soldiers?” Despite everything, his voice is strained, almost heavy with desperation. It’s like this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting me.

  “There are no soldiers. Go find the maji we’re traveling with. She’ll confirm that everything I’ve said is true!”

  Kwame closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He stays so still, a shudder runs through me.

  “When they came to Warri, they looked like you.” He pulls the bone dagger from his waist. “They sounded like you.”

  “Kwame, please—”

  He thrusts the dagger into Tzain’s leg. I don’t know who yells louder, me or him.