by Ayana Gray
Fahim was still refilling buckets as fast as he could, but at the words, Shomari looked up, eager.
“Not for long.”
He dropped his bucket at the same time Ekon did, and together they broke into a run. Their strides were evenly matched as they closed the gap between themselves and the fleeing beastkeepers. The younger of the two was already at the top of the zoo’s border wall. The older one was climbing up the vines to follow suit.
“They’re going to get away!”
Shomari stopped, pulling his slingshot from his belt. “No, they won’t.” He snatched a rock from the ground, knelt, then shot with perfect aim. The stone soared across the lawn like a bird of prey, striking the older beastkeeper in the back of the head so hard she fell from the wall. Ekon flinched as her body crumpled on the ground.
“Got her!” Shomari punched the air, then shot another rock. That one hit the second beastkeeper, the girl, square on the shoulder. “One more, and she’ll—”
“No!” Ekon was already running. The girl on the wall’s top ledge had turned her back on them, teetering dangerously. His lungs burned as he inhaled smoke and grew dizzier, but he shouted at her anyway.
“Hey, wait!”
The girl only glanced over her shoulder. Ekon knew what she was going to do, but he still gasped when she leaped into the darkness.
“No!” Ekon stopped short just as Shomari caught up to him again. “She jumped.”
Shomari swore aloud, already turning to head toward the Night Zoo’s entrance. “We can still cut her off. I’ll go around the back—you take the wall!”
Ekon sprang into action, charging toward the wall before he could pause to think about it. The older beastkeeper, the one Shomari had shot down, was lying in the grass unmoving, but Ekon didn’t stop to look at her. He vaulted up the vine-covered wall, scrabbling to get over it as fast as he could. The world darkened as he reached the ledge the girl had been balanced on only seconds before, and he leaped as she had, landing hard in the dirt on the other side. His eyes panned, then stopped.
It had been ten years since he’d seen the four-legged creature staring back at him in the darkness, though that didn’t make it any less terrifying. He drew in a sharp breath as the beast eyed him, illuminated in a horrid red-orange glow from the fires on the other side of the wall. Its body was leonine, the skin stretched across its lean frame the pale pink color of something that hadn’t seen true sunlight in years. Ekon knew what it was.
The Shetani.
There was a half-second pause as it studied him, baring a row of yellow teeth crammed into a gummy black mouth. That would have been frightening enough in its own right, but the animal’s teeth weren’t what rooted Ekon to the dirt; it was the thing’s eyes. They were emotionless, two black pits that threatened to swallow him whole. They rendered him immobile, helpless, as the familiar voice rose from the back of his mind. He found he could do nothing to stop it; he couldn’t even make his fingers count.
Son. Baba’s voice was desperate as ever. Son, please.
Ekon wasn’t standing near the Greater Jungle’s border now, but it didn’t matter. It seemed the jungle’s very essence had sought him out, a living nightmare purged from its most wretched depths. At once, he was a little boy again, staring at a monster as it towered over his father’s body.
Please, Ekon.
In his memory, Baba’s body was broken, and there was too much blood.
Please, son.
But Ekon couldn’t move, couldn’t help. As the Shetani held his gaze, he knew then that the creature wouldn’t be the thing that killed him in the end; it would be the fear. After all these years, the beast still laid claim to him, ravaging his body like an incurable sickness. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the creature to advance and finish him, then—
“Go.”
Ekon started, his eyes flying open again. The voice that had spoken wasn’t Baba’s, and it hadn’t come from his mind. It was softer, lighter. His eyes flitted right and focused on a figure standing just a few feet from him in the darkness, still as stone. The girl. In the moonlight, he saw she had a small, broad nose, round cheeks, and a slightly pointed chin. Black twists curtained her face, stopping just past her shoulder. She wasn’t looking at him, but at the Shetani, and her expression managed to be both tentative and calm. She regarded the beast as though staring at something faintly familiar. Ekon tensed, waiting for violence, but the Shetani did nothing. It seemed as perplexed as he was by the girl. A moment passed among the three of them, and then Ekon felt it. The sensation came quietly at first, a low hum, like something rumbling just beneath his feet. It grew palpable in the air, heating it. Then:
“Go.” The girl said the word again, this time louder, surer. It seemed to surprise her as much as it surprised Ekon. Another second passed before the Shetani jolted without warning, retreating into the lemongrass fields and leaving the two of them alone.
It understood her. Ekon stared at the place where the creature had been, trying to process what he’d just seen. He wanted to pinch himself, to do something to prove to himself that this was real, but he couldn’t move. It listened to her, he realized. She told it to go, and it . . . listened. It obeyed.
For her own part, the girl still hadn’t moved. She was staring off into the blackness, as though seeing something he could not. A long silence filled the space between them before instinct took over and Ekon closed the gap between them. His fingers locked around her upper arm, and she jumped at the sudden contact. He was shocked to find her skin was hot to the touch, almost feverish. In that moment, in that touch, he felt as though something was radiating from her to him, that same peculiar thrum so strong it rattled his teeth. Her wary gaze lifted to meet his, and from some detached place in the back of his mind, he noted that her eyes were exactly the color of midnight; at least, if he’d imagined such a thing could have a true color. His grip on her arm loosened, but he didn’t realize he’d actually released her until she stumbled back from him and began to run. She wasn’t terribly fast—he could have caught her again if he’d wanted to—but he didn’t. Ekon watched until she’d disappeared into the lemongrass. A feeling like relief graced him only a moment, before a voice shattered the night.
“You let her go?”
Ekon swiveled. Shomari was standing feet away, having just rounded the corner of the Night Zoo’s wall. His expression held indecision as he looked back and forth between Ekon and the surrounding fields. There was a terrible pause; then Shomari turned on his heels and ran.
No.
Ekon tore after him, heart thundering in his chest. The smoke in the air was thinning, the roar of the fire dulled in his ears. It seemed most of it had been put out, but Ekon didn’t care now. His focus was singular. He couldn’t let Shomari tell anyone what he’d just done. He’d let that beastkeeper girl go, deliberately. If any of the other warriors found out, if Father Olufemi found out . . .
He ran faster, but it was no use. Too soon, they were back inside the Night Zoo, stopping short at its well. To Ekon’s horror, several Sons of the Six were already standing there, surrounding a larger group of people seated in the grass with bound wrists. These had to be other beastkeepers, ones that either hadn’t managed to escape or hadn’t bothered trying. Each one of their somber gazes was locked on a man wearing a cheap-looking red dashiki a few feet away.
“. . . will cost thousands in damages!” the man was saying. “You must appeal to the Kuhani tonight and tell him I need immediate relief and financial aid from the temple’s coffers! I’m a gods-fearing man, I pay my tithes—”
“You’ll have to lodge a formal request with the temple’s Fiduciary Committee, Baaz.” Kamau’s words were clipped as he looked down his nose at the man with only thinly veiled disgust. “We are not responsible for the disbursement of its funds. For now, I suggest you salvage what you can. We were able to recover every beastkeeper who tri
ed to run—”
“Not all of them!” Shomari’s words split the night. Ekon watched his co-candidate step forward with a smirk. “Ekon let one of them go.”
Every warrior in the vicinity straightened, their faces growing stony as Shomari’s words sunk in. Ekon watched Fahim, standing nearby, as his eyes widened in horror. Baaz Mtombé looked nothing short of confused. The worst expression, however, was Kamau’s. In two strides, he’d closed the gap between himself and Shomari and grabbed a fistful of the boy’s kaftan. He pulled him so close the tips of their noses were almost touching. When he spoke, his voice was a growl.
“If you ever accuse my brother of such a thing again—”
“K-Kamau, it’s true.” Shomari’s eyes lost their smug gleam as Kamau’s grip tightened. “I saw him do it with my own eyes. He let one of the beastkeepers go, on the other side of the wall! She was wearing a beastkeeper uniform! I swear by the Six!”
Kamau’s eyes followed Shomari’s trembling finger before looking to Ekon. Gone was the rage, the instinctive protectiveness his older brother had always harbored for him. In its place was something far worse—shock.
“Ekkie,” he whispered. “That’s . . . that’s not true, is it?”
Ekon’s blood turned to ice. Another dull roar filled his ears, but this time it wasn’t from a fire. His mind seemed to break into a million pieces he couldn’t gather under his older brother’s waiting gaze. Every instinct in his body told him to lie, but the confession escaped him before he could stop it.
“It’s true.”
He would have given anything in the world not to see the look that touched his brother’s face just then; there were no adequate words for it. It was a collision of disappointment, disgust, and the distinct pain of watching something break, something that would never be quite whole again. None of the other Yaba warriors dared to speak; only the crackling remnants of the fire filled the silence.
“Do you mean to tell me,” Baaz finally said in indignation, “that Sons of the Six now break the law without consequence?” He looked to Kamau. “Tell me, which committee should I speak to about—?”
“Silence.”
Every head swiveled in the direction of the voice that had spoken, a voice Ekon wished to every god and goddess he hadn’t heard. The world seemed to slow as Father Olufemi ambled across the Night Zoo’s smoldering lawns. His mouth was hard-set, the skin between his brows pinched hard.
“The boy is no warrior,” he said. “But he will be punished.”
Ekon’s fingers danced of their own accord, tapping hard against his leg in a frantic beat.
One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.
He tried balling his hands into fists to still them, but with so many eyes on him, it was impossible. Centuries seemed to pass as Father Olufemi continued forward, then stopped a few feet his opposite. His gaze was unflinching when he spoke.
“Candidate Okojo.” His voice was entirely too soft. “You have willfully abetted the escape of a legally indentured servant, and in doing so you have stolen from this man a debt fairly and rightfully owed. This is both a crime and an act of sin. There is no place for either among the Sons of the Six.”
Ekon didn’t look away from Father Olufemi’s searing gaze, but in his periphery, he felt the other warriors watching him, their distaste palpable in the acrid night air. From among them, an unspoken sentiment seemed to grow and form into a unanimous decision. Ekon’s fingers moved so fast with his counts that the joints in his hands began to ache.
One-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three.
Father Olufemi folded his hands at the same time Kamau looked away. Ekon understood what was about to happen a second before the holy man’s mouth uttered the words.
Seventeen words, a bad number.
“Ekon Okojo,” he said quietly. “Effective immediately, your candidacy for the Sons of the Six has ended. You are dismissed.”
CHAPTER 7
Rhythm and Flow
Koffi watched the fractured sky above her pale as night yielded to dawn.
For a few fragile seconds, she remained as detached as the clouds overhead, suspended in an intermediate space between nightmares and dreams, where reality couldn’t reach. It didn’t last long; memories of the previous night found her soon enough.
Then she remembered the eyes.
They were a fathomless black, fixed firmly in her mind. She remembered the sensation of falling after she’d leaped from the Night Zoo’s wall, the impact as she’d landed feetfirst in the dirt and stumbled. When she’d risen, she’d come face-to-face with a monster—and not just any monster.
The Shetani.
She’d known what it was instantly. Growing up, she’d heard tales of it, but nothing that had prepared her for the truth. The creature she’d laid eyes on had been a thing built from nightmares, a mass of raw pink skin stretched tight over tendons and bone. She envisioned the knifelike teeth and bottlebrush tail, the way each of its black claws had curled in the earth as it tensed. Perhaps it had been drawn to the commotion of the Night Zoo’s fire; maybe it’d come for something else. She’d been sure it would kill her, and then—
“Go.”
The word had left her lips in a whisper. Yet again, she’d felt that strange tingle in her feet, a rush of something moving through her.
“Go.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d repeated the command; it had just come to her. And then, against all reason . . . the Shetani had obeyed.
She imagined its retreating figure as it disappeared into the night, and tried to recall other details. Someone had grabbed her momentarily—a boy she hadn’t noticed before—but when he’d let her go a second later, she’d seized the opportunity and made a run for it. That same insistent pull she’d felt in the zoo had guided her through the lemongrass fields as the zoo’s towering brick walls grew distant, and the city of Lkossa’s outer slums rose to meet her. With each step, she’d fallen into a cadence, a steady drumming rhythm that began in her feet and worked its way up her ribs until her heartbeat attuned to it.
Thump-thump. Don’t stop. Thump-thump. Don’t stop.
The pull had led her through winding side streets rank with the stink of waste and rotting food until she’d found refuge in one particularly small alley filled with old crates she could hide behind. Now she sat there with her knees pulled up to her chin.
The throbbing ache near her clavicle when she shifted was a painful reminder of the rock that had hit her, but she bit into her lip until the threatening tears waned. She wouldn’t cry, she determined, not here. To cry now would be to unleash something, a deluge she wasn’t sure she’d be able to dam once released. Her stomach twisted as she stemmed two different kinds of pain, refusing to let either consume her. After a moment, the first subsided, but the second kind remained.
Mama was gone.
The revelation didn’t come the way she’d expected it to—total and devastating. Rather, it rolled over her in waves, each one crueler than its predecessor, until it was numbing. She and Mama had come close, so close, to a different life entirely. She remembered the hope she’d seen in her mother’s eyes as she’d shared the news that they’d be leaving.
We can go wherever we want, she’d said. You and I, we’ll leave this place and start over somewhere else, and we’ll never, ever look back. We’ll never return.
In the end, that dream hadn’t even made it over the Night Zoo’s walls.
Koffi stared at her hands, still loosely wrapped in the bloodied strips of cloth Mama had torn from her own tunic to help her climb the vines. Koffi winced at the sight of them. Those two tattered rags were literal pieces of her mother, the only things she had left now. New truths took shape the longer she stared at them. Mama had understood that there was a chance they wouldn’t both make it out of the Night Zoo, so she’d followed a maternal instinct and told Koffi to climb
the wall first. That sacrifice had ultimately made all the difference, but it hadn’t been the only one. Koffi suddenly remembered all the little moments too, the times Mama had shared her food when meals were sparse, or shared her blanket on colder nights. Even last night, before they’d run, Mama had been prepared to take a punishment that she hadn’t deserved, to give up her own freedom so that Koffi didn’t have to give up hers. That was all Mama had ever done, put others before herself. She’d never seen any of that goodwill returned; she never would now.
And it’s all your fault.
Koffi flinched away from the accusation in her head, from the vitriol in it. The sense of emptiness was one thing, but the blame and guilt cut through her like a knife. None of last night would have happened if she’d remembered to check Diko’s harness. The exploding candle, the fire, the aftermath, it all led back to one careless mistake. She thought of the look she’d seen on Mama’s face in the seconds after the candle had burst, what she’d said as they ran from the Hema side by side.
If Baaz realizes what you really did and what you really are, you will never leave this place.
Koffi focused on those words now, letting them echo in her head. Mama had known something about her, but what? Something significant had happened last night, a thread that interwove between her, the Shetani, and that strange feeling in her feet, but she couldn’t understand the connection. A new stab of pain struck as she realized that it didn’t matter. That strange feeling, whatever it had been and whatever had caused it, was gone now. That truth had likely died with Mama.
Every muscle in Koffi’s body screamed in protest as she pulled herself to her feet, collecting what dwindling resolve she had left. Her feet were sore, her tunic was sticky, and she was sure the twists in her hair were unraveling, but she set her jaw with a new determination. She couldn’t stay in this alley. Her mother’s last gift to her had been a second chance at life, and that gift couldn’t be wasted. Sitting here waiting for something or someone to happen upon her wasn’t an option. She had to move.