by Ayana Gray
Ekon let Brother Ugo’s words about destiny and the Shetani steep in his mind as he left the sky garden and wandered the temple. By now, true morning light was seeping through its arched windows, reminding him of the time, but he just couldn’t make himself return to his room to pack his things, not yet.
He didn’t realize where his feet had led him until he’d reached a short corridor, darker than most. Polished sconces every few feet kept it faintly illuminated at all times, and Ekon didn’t have to look at the distinctly black granite walls to know where he was.
Memorial Hall.
Involuntarily, his fingers traced along the cool stone. Nearly every inch of it was covered in tiny inscribed names. There were mostly retired warriors listed, occasionally the name of an esteemed master scholar of the temple. He searched the chronological roster until he found what he was looking for.
WARRIOR ASAFA OKOJO—Death in Service to the Six
Ekon looked from the name to the old hanjari now looped on his belt, and fought a shudder. Brother Ugo had said the blade was found on his father’s person after the accident.
Accident was a polite way of putting it.
Baba had been found at the edge of the Greater Jungle, mauled nearly beyond recognition. Ekon tried to remember the better things, the crinkles around his father’s dark eyes when he smiled, or the way his laugh had boomed like thunder. But those better things, just like the faint recollections he had of his mother, never lingered in his mind. In their stead, far uglier images plagued him. He envisioned an overgrown jungle, a body facedown in its leaves. Ekon screwed his eyes shut, trying to use his fingers to count away the rising nightmare, but it held fast. He watched Baba’s body rise from the dirt, mouth open in a silent scream as a creature stalked forward, a being with wretched black eyes and blood dripping from its maw. And then Ekon wasn’t seventeen anymore, he was just a little boy—a boy who’d seen everything.
A boy who’d said nothing.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Ekon turned. He hadn’t heard Kamau enter the hall. His brother’s face was inscrutable. In the sconces’ flickering light, he noted Kamau looked even more fatigued than usual. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was unkempt, and he smelled faintly of something sweet, maybe wine.
“I didn’t get much sleep,” he said, reading Ekon’s mind. “Father Olufemi called for an emergency meeting a few hours ago.”
“What about?”
“I can’t say.” Kamau’s stoic expression didn’t change. “It’s confidential.”
Confidential. There was that word again, erected between them like a wall. Ekon thought back to a different time, when he and Kamau had faced everything together. After Mama had left and Baba had been killed, it had been Kamau who’d found them a new home at the temple. The two of them had carved out a life here, built hopes and dreams together side by side. All of that was gone now.
“I spoke to Father Olufemi about you too,” Kamau murmured. “He’s agreed to let you stay in the temple.”
“What?” Ekon gawked. “How?”
“I reminded him that you’ve worked here for a decade, that you could still be of service. He said there was a position available.”
“Really?”
Kamau didn’t meet his eyes. “Brother Apunda is getting older, and he needs help overseeing temple maintenance, especially with the Bonding coming up in two months . . .”
Ekon didn’t hide his immediate scowl. Brother Apunda, the temple’s head custodian, was a stern old man who always smelled of spoiled legumes. “Kam, I really appreciate you speaking up for me,” he said in earnest. “But I don’t want to be a custodian. I want to be a warrior.”
For the first time, Kamau’s face held real sadness. “I know,” he said. “But it was the best I could do. I’m sorry.”
A silence fell between them, and Ekon looked away for a moment. When he lifted his gaze, he found that Kamau was staring at the memorial wall. Not for the first time, he wondered if his brother was thinking about the same thing he always thought about when he came here.
“I miss him.” He thought he’d said it too faintly for Kamau to hear, but his brother slowly nodded.
“Yeah.” The word was choked. “Me too.” Kamau shifted his weight. “Look, Ekkie, I know how badly you wanted to be a Son of the Six, and I know you feel like you have to be one to make Baba proud. But what Baba loved most wasn’t his uniform or title; it was the fact that he got to serve this city and its people.” Kamau looked up. “That’s something you can still do as a custodian of the temple. Working here still allows you to serve Lkossa, to be like Baba . . .”
Kamau went on, but Ekon stopped listening. His eyes had wandered, yet again, to his father’s name etched into the wall before them. In his mind, only one part of what his brother had said echoed.
Be like Baba. Be like Baba.
In seventeen years, he’d wanted plenty of things—to kiss a girl, to have more time to read in the library, treats from the temple’s kitchens—but the thing he’d wanted above all else had been singular; he’d wanted to be like Baba. He’d longed to follow in his father’s footsteps, the Okojo family’s footsteps, and to add something worthwhile to that legacy. That had been his path, laid out before him as straight as an arrow since childhood. Kamau had gotten to follow that path, but Ekon’s path had been taken away, and not because he hadn’t earned it or wanted it enough.
His path had been stolen from him, by a monster.
The Shetani had taken his father’s life, and now, in a different way, Ekon reasoned that it had taken his too. His plans, his hopes, everything he’d spent years working for was gone because of that wretched creature. His fingers tapped out a rhythm, trying to find a new count, but it was futile. There was no way to calculate a loss of that magnitude, to enumerate that kind of pain. He’d never wear the blue kaftan, never have his name added to this wall with his father’s when he someday died. His life was over before it had begun, and it was the Shetani’s fault. It always led back to the Shetani. His fingers stopped their tapping and curled until he felt the fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm. He wanted that gods-forsaken thing dead, wished with all his heart that someone would—
He stilled.
“Ekon?” In his periphery, he felt Kamau’s eyes on him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Ekon had to work to keep his expression impassive. The idea slowly forming in his mind was no more than a budding sprout; small, impossible, but . . . it was there. He was scared to think about it, to even entertain the notion, but he found that once he’d acknowledged it, its roots dug into him, refusing to let go. He chose his words carefully. “I . . . I think I’ve just . . . figured it out.”
“What?” Kamau frowned, visibly confused. “What are you—?”
“My rites of passage,” Ekon muttered to himself. “The killings . . . I could . . . Yes, then everything would be fixed . . .” Ekon ignored his brother’s arched eyebrow and started to pace. He knew it probably looked strange, abrupt, but he did his best thinking when he was in motion, counting something. At once, his fingers picked up where they’d left off. He listened to the sound of his sandals slapping against the temple’s stone floor as he let the idea unfurl in his imagination.
One-two-three. It would be foolish.
Four-five-six. It would be dangerous.
Seven-eight-nine. It would fix everything.
“Ekkie.”
Ekon stopped short, feeling dazed. Kamau was staring at him, his expression a cross between mild amusement and genuine concern.
“Let me in,” he said softly. “What are you talking about?”
Ekon swallowed. They were alone in the corridor, there was no one else around, but he was still almost afraid to speak the words. He lowered his voice. “I think I know a way to get Father Olufemi to reconsider my candidacy for the Sons of the Six
.”
At once, Kamau’s face fell. No longer did he look amused; now his expression held distinct pity. He sighed, and the sound hurt more than Ekon expected.
“Ekon . . .”
“Hear me out.” Ekon raised a hand, speaking quickly. He tried not to notice that Kamau was staring at his counting fingers with a disapproving frown. “I failed my final rite of passage.” It hurt him to say the truth aloud, but he forced himself to do it. “But what if there’s another way for me to prove to Father Olufemi and the brothers of the temple that I am capable?”
Kamau’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if a candidate performed an act no other Son of the Six has ever managed to do, something that improved the lives of every single person in this city? Surely that would make Father Olufemi reconsider.”
“It might.” Kamau shrugged. “But that act would have to be truly extraordinary, it would have to be something like—”
“Like killing the Shetani?”
It seemed to take Kamau a moment to process the words. Ekon watched as understanding dawned on his brother’s face, as his mouth and eyes simultaneously widened in horror.
“Ekon,” he whispered. “No.”
“Think about it, Kam.” Ekon closed the gap between them and bowed his head. “If I could find it, if I killed it—”
Kamau shook his head. “Ekon, listen to me, you can’t—”
“You know, I’m not as incompetent as you think,” said Ekon mulishly. “I trained in this temple, same as you.”
Kamau looked pained. “It’s not that, it’s . . .” His words trailed off, and Ekon jutted his chin.
“Tell me.”
Kamau shot a furtive look over his shoulder. “You can speak to no one of this.”
Ekon nodded.
“You can’t go after the Shetani because a hunting party is being assembled to do the exact same thing as we speak,” said Kamau in a rush.
Ekon drew a sharp breath. “A hunting—?”
“Shh!”
He closed his mouth but repeated his brother’s words in his head. A hunting party. For the first time in a decade, Father Olufemi was going to select warriors to go into the Greater Jungle in search of the Shetani. To be chosen for it would be an unmatched privilege, the highest distinction, an honor.
“Who’s been asked to join?” It was the first question that came to him.
“I don’t know all the names yet,” said Kamau. “Father Olufemi is still making his selections. He wants to make sure there’s a good balance of novice and experienced warriors in case . . .”
In case none of them make it back, Ekon finished the unspoken words. He nodded to his brother. “Are you going?” He didn’t bother to ask if he was one of the ones selected.
Kamau looked uncomfortable. “I haven’t decided.”
“The meeting you just left, that’s what it was about, wasn’t it?”
Kamau didn’t speak, but his eyes held the answer. “If you go into the Greater Jungle looking for the Shetani, you need to understand that you won’t just be contending with what’s already in there. The Sons of the Six will be hunting too, the Yaba way.”
Ekon swallowed. He knew the rules of the Yabahari, his people’s traditional way of hunting. No mercy. The warriors going into that jungle would be looking out only for themselves, and anyone else would be treated like the enemy. He would be treated like the enemy.
“I know the way a Son of the Six hunts,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “Which means I know how to avoid them too. If I just stay out of—”
“Ekon, listen to me.” Kamau’s voice had changed. He sounded like a true warrior now, more stoic and serious. “This is not a game. The Sons of the Six and the Shetani are each bad enough on their own, but then there’s the Greater Jungle itself. You’ve never even been in it before.”
Ekon chose not to mention that, technically, that wasn’t true.
“Hunting for the Shetani in there won’t be like the training you’ve done here in the city,” Kamau continued. “If you make a mistake out on the sparring lawns, it costs you the match. But if you make a mistake in that jungle . . .” He paused. “It may cost you your very life.”
“A price I’m willing to pay.” Ekon drew himself up to his full height. Growing up, Kamau had always been slightly taller than him, but in the last year, he’d finally had a growth spurt. They were mirrors of each other now, two identical pairs of dark eyes level with each other. “You said so yourself just last night: I’m an Okojo. I was born to be a warrior. It’s in my blood, same as it’s in yours. It’s in our roots. Kutoka mzizi, remember?”
Kamau shook his head. “Ekon—”
“Faith and fortitude.” Ekon stepped forward. “Last night, Father Olufemi said a true Son of the Six has faith and fortitude. Killing the Shetani would prove I have both.”
Kamau’s expression hardened. “I might remind you that I am honor-bound to report information like this to Father Olufemi, and to the brothers of the temple.”
“Kam.” Ekon’s voice was barely a whisper. “Please.”
He wasn’t sure if it was the plea itself or perhaps the way he said it, but slowly Ekon watched something in Kamau’s expression waver. It was minimal, a single crack in an invisible armor, but it was enough. Like that, Kamau wasn’t a kapteni anymore, he wasn’t even a warrior; he was just an older brother. He wasn’t “Warrior Okojo,” he was Kam, the boy who’d once snuck with Ekon from the temple’s dormitories down to the kitchens for late-night feasts of red grapes and mango juice. He was the Kam who’d first taught Ekon how to properly hold a hanjari, and who’d patiently drilled with him for days until he got it right. He was the boy who intimately knew what it had been like to lose two parents, because he’d lost them too. And he was Kam, the brother who’d never betray him.
“I won’t tell Father Olufemi,” Kamau said. “Unless he explicitly asks me. If he does, you need to know I will have no choice but to answer truthfully.”
Ekon nodded. His brother had sworn a holy oath of fealty; this half promise was the very best he could offer him as an anointed warrior. Even then, he knew Kamau could lose his position as a kapteni for keeping this secret at all. “Thank you.”
Kamau put a hand on his shoulder. “Gather your supplies quickly, and get going as soon as you can,” he instructed. There was a fervor in the command. “Father Olufemi will probably need a few more days to organize the hunting party, and you need to stay ahead of us. Keep off the more obvious paths, but don’t go completely off trail or you’ll end up lost. Also, try not to leave tracks.” He gave Ekon a meaningful look. “Or anything else that would allow you to be followed.”
Ekon nodded. “I won’t.”
“Remember what you know from your training, be resourceful.”
“I will.”
Kamau nodded. “You also need to understand that, once you go, you’ll be absent without leave, subject to punishment—”
“Father Olufemi won’t punish me,” said Ekon quickly. “Not when I bring him what he wants, that thing’s head.”
Kamau offered a half smile before his expression grew more solemn. “Promise me one thing, Ekkie.” Abruptly his tone changed. “Promise me that, whatever you do, you won’t let trying to find that thing be more important than your life. I can’t . . .” He glanced at his feet. “I can’t lose you too. You’re all I’ve got left.”
Ekon held his brother’s gaze, ignoring the tightness in his chest. Never in his entire life had he lied to Kamau. He would have to now.
“I promise,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few weeks, maybe less.”
Kamau nodded.
“I’m going to do it, Kam,” said Ekon. “I’m going to find that monster, I’m going to kill it, and I’m going to avenge Baba.” And I will earn my place in the Sons of the Six, he
promised himself. If it’s the last thing I do.
The Shetani had stolen his destiny. Now Ekon would steal it back.
CHAPTER 9
A Truth and a Lie
Koffi caught a final glimpse of the city’s bustling streets before Baaz tossed her into his mule-drawn wagon.
The scents in the air were familiar—hay and sweat and manure—but inside the wood-paneled confines, they were nauseating. For several minutes, the wagon jostled and swayed as Baaz drove, and she listened as the city’s sounds grew faint. Eventually, it stopped, and she heard the distinct click of a key turning in its padlock. She tried to shield her eyes as sudden sunlight burst into the darkness, but she was yanked out before she could. She had to blink several times to clear her vision. When she did, her heart seized.
The lawns of the Night Zoo were in ruins, ripped apart and scorched black. Several cages had been toppled, their barred metal doors swinging in the morning breeze. In the midst of them, where the Hema had once stood, there was now little more than a graveyard of crimson scraps, burnt furniture, and a collection of structural rods bent at odd angles that bore an unsettling resemblance to a massive charred skeleton. Koffi stared in disbelief. She’d never really liked the old zoo, but it had been the only real home she’d ever known. It was surprisingly sad to see it this way.
“Koffi?”
She looked up sharply. The voice that had called her name wasn’t low and gruff like Baaz’s, but friendly and familiar. She turned, and her heart nearly leaped from her chest.
“Jabir?”
The young beastkeeper was sprinting toward her barefoot across the blackened grass, several wild dogs on his heels. It was a strange, almost-eerie refrain to the way he’d run to her just last night. When he reached her, there were no words. She threw her arms around him, squeezing until her ribs hurt. Jabir made a small sound of relief as he hugged her back. After a moment, she held him at arm’s length to examine him. His gray tunic’s hem was slightly singed, but overall, he appeared unharmed.
“I thought you were gone,” she said.