Children of Blood and Bone (Legacy of Orisha)

by Tomi Adeyemi

  The crowd’s cheers rise as the divîner twirls out of the circle and Folake shimmies in. The beads of her yellow kaftan catch the light, shimmering as they move along her skin. She teases everyone with her smile, no one more than Kwame. When the crowd can take no more, her hands erupt. The crowd cheers when sparks of golden light shoot from her hands, dancing with her through the camp.

  “Mama, Mama, Mama—”

  Divîner after divîner enters the ring, each dressed like Sky Mother’s children. Though they can’t do magic, their imitations fill the crowd with joy. At the end, a girl who mirrors my age steps forward. She’s dressed in flowing red silks, and a beaded headdress glitters against her skin. Oya … My sister deity.

  Though nothing like the brilliance of Oya in my visions, the divîner has a magical aura of her own. Like Folake, she has long white locs that spin as she dances, twirling around her like the red silks. In one hand she sports Oya’s signature irukere, a short whip with the hair of a lionaire. As she spins it around the circle, the divîner’s praises grow.

  “You are a part of this, Zélie.” Amari laces her fingers with mine. “Do not let anyone take this magic away.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  AMARI

  THOUGH THE PROCESSION ENDS, the music and dancing advance late into the night. I bite into another moín moín pie as I watch the festivities, savoring the melting of the steamed bean cake in my mouth. A divîner walks past with a platter of shuku shuku, and I almost cry when the sweet coconut hits my tongue.

  “About time.”

  Tzain’s breath tickles my ear, sending a pleasant tingle down my neck. For a rare moment he is alone, unbothered by the swarm of divîner girls who have tried to catch his eye all night.

  “Pardon?” I ask, choking down the rest of the shuku shuku.

  “I’ve been looking for you. You’re a hard person to find.”

  I wipe the crumbs from my lips, desperate to hide the fact that I’ve eaten my way through half the festival. Though my dress started out a perfect fit, now the seams pull at my hips.

  “Well, I suppose it’s hard to find me when a gaggle of girls blocks your every path.”

  “My apologies, Princess.” Tzain laughs. “But you should know it takes time to approach the prettiest girl here.”

  His smile softens, just like the night he threw me in the river and laughed when I tried to throw him back. It was a rare side of him; after everything that happened since, I wasn’t sure when I would see this side again.

  “What is it?”

  “Just thinking.” I shrug and turn back to the sea of dancing divîners. “I’ve been worried about you. You’re forgiving, but being tortured in that tent couldn’t have been easy.”

  “Humph.” Tzain grins. “I can think of a lot of better ways to spend a night with a girl locked in a tent.”

  My face turns so red I’m positive it clashes with the golden hues of my dress. “I guess the other night was my first time spending the night with a boy.”

  Tzain snorts. “Was it everything you ever dreamed?”

  “I don’t know…” I press my finger to my lips. “I always imagined less bondage.”

  To my surprise a laugh breaks free, louder than any he’s had in my presence. The sound makes my chest swell. I haven’t made anyone laugh this loud since Binta. Unspoken words swim inside me, but before I can respond, a giggle catches our attention.

  I shift to find Zélie a few tents away, dancing at the edge of the crowd. She laughs as she sips on a bottle of palm wine, spinning a divîner child round and round. Though I smile at her joy, Tzain’s face darkens into the sadness he showed in the tent. But all sadness fades when Tzain spots Inan. My brother stares at Zélie like she’s the single red rose in a garden of white.

  “Do you see that?” I grab Tzain’s hand and pull him toward a circle of cheering divîners. A flutter erupts in my stomach when his hand wraps back over mine.

  Tzain’s broad shoulders part the crowd like a herder moving through a flock of sheep. Within moments we reach the vibrant dancer in the center of the circle, bursting with exuberance and life. Her beaded dress sparkles in the moonlight, accentuating every shake and roll of her hips. Each curve of her body circles to the beat, electrifying the crowd with every thrust.

  Tzain nudges me forward and I grip his arm. “What in skies’ name are you doing?”

  “Get in,” he laughs. “It’s time I see your moves.”

  “You’ve had too much ogogoro,” I laugh.

  “What if I go?” Tzain asks. “If I do it, will you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Tzain, I said no—”

  He jumps into the circle, startling the dancer, causing the whole crowd to step back. For a long moment he doesn’t make a move, studying everyone with mock seriousness pasted on his face. But when the horns of the song ring, he practically explodes in dance. He shakes and pops like fire ants have been dropped in his pants.

  I laugh so hard I cannot breathe, gripping the divîner next to me to stay upright. Each move he makes incites more cheers, causing the circle of onlookers to double in size.

  As he shakes his shoulders and drops to the ground, the dancing girl joins back in, twirling around the space. My skin prickles as she moves, seduction dripping from each roll of her hips. She fixes Tzain with a flirtatious gaze that makes me grimace. How can I be surprised? With his kind smile, his strong, imposing frame—

  Calloused hands wrap around my wrists. Large hands. Tzain’s hands.

  “Tzain, no!”

  His mischief overpowers my fright. Before I know it, I stand in the center of the circle. I freeze, paralyzed as countless eyes land on me. I turn to escape, but Tzain holds me tight, spinning me for the world to see.

  “Tzain!” I shriek, but my terror dissolves into a laughter I cannot stop. Excitement swirls through me as we move, my two left feet somehow catching the beat. For a moment the crowd disappears and I only see Tzain—his smile, his kind brown eyes.

  I could live an eternity like this, spinning and laughing in the safety of his arms.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  INAN

  ZÉLIE HAS NEVER LOOKED more beautiful than she does now.

  Hand in hand with a young divîner boy, she shines in her soft purple dress, a twirling goddess among the crowd. The sea-salt scent of her soul rises above the vast aromas of festival foods. It hits me with full force.

  An ocean tide pulling me in.

  Watching her, it’s almost easy to forget about the maji. The monarchy. Father. In this moment, all I can think about is Zél. Her smile lights the world like a full moon on a starless night.

  When she can twirl no longer, she gives the child a hug. He squeals when she plants a kiss on his forehead. But as soon as he runs off, three young men step forward to take his place.

  “Excuse me—”

  “Hi, I’m Deka—”

  “You look lovely tonight—”

  I smile as they try to charm her. Each squawks over the other. While they chatter, I wrap my hand around Zélie’s side and squeeze.

  “May I have this dance?”

  She whips around, outraged. Then she realizes it’s me. As she smiles, I’m struck with her delight. Then longing. A hint of fear. Tzain flashes across her mind, and I pull her close. “I’ll take you somewhere he can’t see.”

  A warm rush flows from her body into mine. My grip tightens.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  I grab her hand and lead her through the crowd, ignoring the glares of her pursuers. We make our way toward the forest at the edge of the camps. Away from the celebration and dance. The cool air is a welcome breeze. It carries the rich scent of campfires and bark and damp leaves.

  “You’re sure you don’t see Tzain?”

  “Positive.”

  “What about—whoa!”

  Zélie stumbles to the ground. A girlish giggle escapes her mouth. As I stifle my
own laughter to help her, a whiff of honey palm wine wafts into my nose.

  “Skies, Zél, are you drunk?”

  “I wish. Whoever brewed this clearly didn’t know what they were doing.” She takes my hand and leans against a tree for support. “I think all that twirling with Salim is catching up to me.”

  “I’ll bring you water.”

  I make to leave, but Zélie grabs my arm.

  “Stay.” Her fingers slide to my hands. A rush travels through me at her touch.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nods and giggles again. Her melodic laughter draws me close.

  “You asked me to dance.” A playful glint flashes in her silver eyes. “I want to dance.”

  Like the eager boys circling Zélie before, I step forward. Close enough to catch the faintest hint of palm wine on her breath. When I slide my hand over her wrist, she closes her eyes and breathes in. Her fingers dig into the bark.

  Her reaction fills every cell in my being with want, a visceral rush I’ve never experienced before. It takes everything in me not to kiss her; not to run my hands over her curves and press her against the tree.

  When her eyes flutter open again, I bend so that my lips brush against her ear. “If we’re actually going to dance, you have to move, little Zél.”

  She stiffens.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “You can call me ‘little prince’ and I can’t call you ‘little Zél’?”

  Her hands drop to her side. She turns her face away.

  “Mama called me that.”

  Skies.

  I release her. It’s a fight not to bang my head against the tree. “Zél, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “I know.”

  She stares at the ground. Her playfulness disappears, drowning in a sea of grief. But then a wave of terror swells inside her.

  “Are you okay?”

  She clings to me without warning, pressing her head into my chest. Her fear sinks into my skin. It wraps around my throat. It consumes her—raw and powerful—just like that day in the forest. Except now it’s not only the monarchy that haunts her; it’s the shadows of death thrashing from her own hands.

  I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. What I wouldn’t give to take her fear away. We stay like that for a long moment, disappearing into each other’s arms.

  “You smell like the sea.”

  She blinks up at me.

  “Your spirit,” I clarify. “It’s always smelled like the sea.”

  She stares at me with an expression I can’t discern. I don’t spend too much time trying to decipher it. It’s enough to be lost in her eyes. To exist only in her silver gaze.

  I tuck a loose coil behind her ears. She presses her face back into my chest.

  “I lost control today.” Her voice cracks. “I hurt him. I hurt Tzain.”

  I open my mind a little further, just beyond the point of pure relief. Zélie’s memory rushes in like a wave spilling onto shore.

  I feel it all, Tzain’s venomous words, the shadows that raged. The guilt, the hatred, the shame left in her magic’s wake.

  I squeeze Zélie tighter, a warm rush running through me when she squeezes back. “I lost control once, too.”

  “Did someone get hurt?”

  “Someone died,” I say quietly. “Someone I loved.”

  She pulls back and looks up, tears brimming in her eyes. “That’s why you’re so afraid of your magic?”

  I nod. The guilt of Kaea’s death twists a knife inside me. “I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  Zélie leans back into my chest and releases a heavy breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “About?”

  “Magic.”

  My eyes go wide. Of all the things I imagined, I never thought I’d hear this doubt come from her mouth.

  “This is what I want.” Zélie waves a hand at the bliss of the festival. “This is everything I’ve been fighting for, but when I think of what happened…” Her voice trails off. Tzain’s bleeding shoulder fills her mind. “These people are good. Their hearts are pure. But what will happen if I bring magic back and the wrong maji tries to take control?”

  The fear is so familiar, it feels like my own. Yet somehow it’s not nearly as strong as before. Even when I think back to Kwame in flames, the first image that comes to my mind is how they sputtered out when Zulaikha instructed him to stop.

  Zélie opens her mouth to continue, but no words come out. I gaze at the fullness of her lips. I stare a bit too long when she bites them.

  “It’s so unfair,” she sighs.

  I look down at her. It’s hard to believe we’re both awake. How many times have I wanted to hold her like this? To have her hold me back?

  “You just get to dance around in my mind while I have no idea what’s going on in yours.”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Of course I want to know! Do you realize how embarrassing it is to have no con—”

  I push her against the bark of the tree. My mouth presses against her neck. She gasps as I run my hands up her back. A small moan escapes her lips.

  “This,” I whisper. My mouth brushes her skin with each word. “This is what I’m thinking. This is what’s going through my head.”

  “Inan,” she breathes, voice ragged. Her fingers dig into my back, pulling me closer. Everything in me wants her. Wants this. All the time.

  With that desire, everything becomes clear. It all begins to make sense.

  We don’t need to fear magic.

  We only need each other.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  ZÉLIE

  YOU CAN’T.

  You can’t.

  You can’t.

  No matter how many times I repeat these words, my desire rages like a ryder out of control.

  Tzain will kill us if he finds out. But even as this thought runs through my head, my nails dig into Inan’s back. I pull him into me, pressing until I can feel the hard lines of his body. I want to feel more. I want to feel him.

  “Come back to Lagos with me.”

  I force my eyes open, unsure whether I’ve heard him correctly. “What?”

  “If freedom is what you want, come back to Lagos with me.”

  It’s like diving into the cold lakes of Ibadan; a visceral shock that pulls me from our fantasy. A world where Inan is just a boy in a handsome kaftan; a maji, not a prince.

  “You promised you wouldn’t get in my way—”

  “I shall keep my word,” Inan cuts me off. “But Zélie, that’s not what this is.”

  Walls start to form around my heart, walls I know he can feel. He pulls away, sliding his hands from my back to the sides of my face.

  “When you bring magic back, the nobility will fight tooth and nail to stop you. The Raid will happen again and again. The war won’t end until an entire generation of Orïshans is dead.”

  I look away, but deep down I know he’s right. It’s the reason the fear won’t go away, the reason I can’t allow myself to truly celebrate. Zu’s built a paradise, but when magic returns, the dream will end. Magic doesn’t give us peace.

  It only gives us a fighting chance.

  “How will me coming back to Lagos solve any of that?” I ask. “As we speak, your father calls for my head!”

  “My father’s scared.” Inan shakes his head. “He’s misguided, but his fear is justified. All the monarchy’s ever seen is the destruction maji can bring. They’ve never experienced anything like this.” He gestures to the camp, face alight with so much hope his smile practically glows in the darkness. “Zulaikha created this in one moon, and there are already more divîners in Lagos than anywhere else in Orïsha. Just imagine what we could accomplish with the resources of the monarchy behind us.”

  “Inan…” I start to resist, but he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and trails his thumb down my neck.

  “If my father could see this … see you…”

  With one touch, ever
ything inside me shivers, pushing against my doubt. I lean into him, hungry for more.

  “He’ll see what you’ve shown me.” Inan holds me close. “The maji of today are not the maji he fought. If we build a colony like this in Lagos, he’ll understand he has nothing to fear.”

  “This settlement only survives because no one knows where we are. Your father would never allow maji to congregate anywhere besides chained in the stocks.”

  “He won’t have a choice.” Inan’s grip tightens, a spark of defiance flaring for the first time. “When magic is back, he won’t have the power to take it away. Whether or not he agrees with me at first, in time he’ll come to understand what’s best. We can unite as one kingdom for the very first time. Amari and I will lead the transition. We can do it if you’re there by our side.”

  A flame of hope lights inside me, one I should put out. Inan’s vision begins to crystallize in my mind, the structures Grounders could erect, the techniques Mama Agba could teach all of us. Baba would never have to worry about the taxes again. Tzain could spend the rest of his life playing ag—

  Before I can finish the thought, guilt slams into me. The memory of the blood leaking from under my brother’s hands extinguishes any excitement.

  “It wouldn’t work,” I whisper. “Magic would still be too dangerous. Innocent people could get hurt.”

  “A few days ago I would’ve said the same thing.” Inan pulls back. “But this morning you proved me wrong. With just one lesson, I realized that one day I could actually gain control. If we taught the maji how to do the same in designated colonies, they could reenter Orïsha after they’re trained.”

  Inan’s eyes light up and his words begin to rush together.

  “Zélie, just imagine what Orïsha could become. Healers like Zu would eradicate sickness. A team of Grounders and Welders could eliminate the need for the stocks. Skies, think of what the army would fight like with your animations leading the charge.”

  He presses his forehead against mine, getting far too close for me to think clearly.

  “It’ll be a new Orïsha.” He calms down. “Our Orïsha. No battles. No wars. Just peace.”