by Ayana Gray
They continued around the temple’s main entrance until they’d reached the large stable. It had been built from wood and iron, and was by far the most beautiful and well-kept stable she’d ever seen, certainly far nicer than anything in the Night Zoo.
“Why does a temple even have a stable?” she muttered.
Jabir’s eyes cut to her, amused. “They sell ‘anointed’ goods—milk, eggs, wool. They keep their own animals so the products are ‘authentically’ from the temple. What’s a theocracy if not occasionally profitable?”
“Corrupt.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Koffi rolled her eyes, then almost immediately tensed. A young man was standing at the opening to the stable, staring straight at them with arms crossed. She didn’t think he was a Son of the Six—he wasn’t wearing the distinguishing sky-blue kaftan, and he didn’t look quite old enough to be a warrior—but seeing him still didn’t put her at ease.
“State your business here.” His voice wasn’t deep, and he wasn’t much taller than Koffi, but he made a point of looking down his nose at them as they stopped before him.
“Good morning, sir.” Jabir bowed his head, keeping as much of his Gede inflection from his words as he could. It was almost startling. “We have brought this week’s Zamani goat for the temple’s ritual sacrifice.”
“I’ll take it from here.” The young man advanced, but Jabir raised a hand in warning. Had Koffi not known him better, she’d have actually believed the concern on his face was genuine. He was an exceedingly good actor.
“Sir, with all due respect, I think it best if we take this one into the stable ourselves,” he said, voice solemn. “Shida can be . . . temperamental. She’s been giving us trouble all morning—lots of kicking.”
The young man’s scowl deepened as he looked between the two of them and then at the goat. “Give her here, now.”
Koffi stiffened, but Jabir seemed to be expecting this. He shrugged, offering up the rope.
“As you wish,” he said. “But I should also warn you . . . Shida has a problem with her, um . . . well, with her poops.”
It was so subtle, Koffi might have missed it if she’d blinked. Jabir’s fingers twitched, the subtlest of hand commands. The watching goat obeyed, moving into a distinct squatting position as though it were about to . . .
“All right!” The young man stepped back, face twisting with disgust. Apparently, while a kicking goat was permissible, a pooping one was a problem. “Take her to stall three, then see yourselves out.” He looked over his shoulder at two other similarly dressed boys. They were gesturing to him. He gave Koffi and Jabir one final glance before running off to join them. Once he was gone, Jabir turned to Koffi.
“Follow me.”
They ducked into the stable and made an immediate right. They passed several pigsties, mules nibbling quietly on bits of hay, even some guinea fowl. When they reached an empty stall with a hand-painted 3 over its entrance, Jabir stopped.
“Sorry, my friend,” he said, looking to Shida. In answer, the Zamani goat bleated back at him. He stooped down and gave the goat a light pat on its head; it was a surprisingly sad gesture. He straightened, then lowered his voice. “I’ve got to head back to the Night Zoo. That door”—he pointed to a large entryway on the other side of the stable—“leads into the actual temple. I’ve never been inside that part, but I know this is the bottom floor. Find stairs and go up. Any maps would be kept on higher floors. This is as far as I can take you. You’re on your own from here.” He paused. “You sure you want to do this? The penalty for trespassing in the temple—”
Koffi swallowed. The truth was, she didn’t want to do this; she was terrified. She made sure her voice was even when she answered: “I have to.”
Jabir held her gaze a second longer. “Then, good luck.” He paused. “I love you. We both do.”
It was almost too much. Koffi choked on the words. “I love you too.”
He pulled her into a hug, and she let him, hoping he couldn’t feel her trembling from head to foot.
When they broke apart, he gave her a nod, then without another word, he headed toward the stable’s exit. She wanted to watch him go, to make sure he got back to the Night Zoo safely, but there was no time. She looked to the entryway Jabir had indicated, braced herself, and started in that direction. More than anything she wanted to run, but she forced herself not to. The hallway leading into the temple seemed to grow larger as she neared it, and she had to temper the distinct feeling that it was going to swallow her. In one moment, she was before it; in the next, she’d plunged into darkness, alone.
The air seemed to cool with every step, gray stone walls all around her pressing in. Instinctively, she reached into her shoulder bag, fingers wrapping around the neck of the old water gourd. It wasn’t much of a weapon at all, but worst-case scenario, it would have to do. Gedes weren’t allowed in the Temple of Lkossa under any circumstances; to be caught here would not only ruin her mission, but it would also almost assuredly land her in serious trouble with the Sons of the Six. There were rumors the city’s worst criminals were kept in another part of the temple, in a cellar perhaps even lower than this. She shuddered at the thought of being thrown into one of those cells.
She turned a corner, letting her free hand trace along the walls to gain a sense of place. Despite the many windows she’d seen from the outside as she and Jabir approached, this part of the temple appeared to have none at all; save for the occasional sconces mounted on the walls, there was little light. Slowly, she made her way up the halls. It seemed this was a place where odds and ends were kept too; every few feet, her toe stubbed against an old broom or mop, a broken chair long since forgotten. A dull ache spiked up her foot when she stubbed it yet again, but this time, she actually stopped. In the flickering light it was difficult to make out the old statue propped against the wall, but she still recognized its likeness: Badwa, goddess of the jungle.
It was said that each of the six gods had been born from the universe’s own teardrop, three drops each from two eyes to create six immortal beings. Mama had taught her about them through stories. Koffi knew all their names and realms, but it was still strange to see the great goddess’s likeness before her, so large, so grand. Badwa’s face was rounded, her cheeks full, as though she were on the verge of smiling. Black and green mold had begun to cover one side of her face—no doubt the reason this statue had been relegated here—but the goddess didn’t seem to mind. Koffi was still studying her, eyes dropping to the large stone snake carved at her feet, when she heard it.
“Hello?”
Her blood ran cold. She barely had time to dart behind the statue before she heard footsteps. They weren’t loud or confident like the march of a Son of the Six; these were softer, more hesitant. She crouched behind the statue, willing herself to keep still even as the footsteps drew closer.
“Hello?” A voice rang out again in the darkness, distinctly low and male. The accent definitely belonged to a Yaba. “Who’s there?”
Koffi’s grip on her gourd tightened. She had two options, and she was going to have to decide on one fast. If the owner of that voice stayed where he was, there was a chance he wouldn’t see her and would eventually go away. But if he got much closer, he would see her—and then she’d have to act. She tried to recall anything she’d learned at the Night Zoo that could help her, and drew a blank. Beasts were predictable; humans were not.
Her breath grew shorter as the footsteps drew nearer, louder. Sweat slicked her palm as, slowly, she shrugged her bag off and eased it onto the ground. Better to have the full range of her arm.
Fight, then flight, she silently instructed, bracing herself. On the count of one, two, three . . .
She leaped from behind the statue with a cry, the arm holding her gourd high, but stopped short.
The young man standing before her was tall, lean in build. He w
ore a plain white kaftan with light blue embroidery around the neckline and hem. His dark curly hair was cut into a precise top fade, prominent against his brown skin. A leather-hilted hanjari was sheathed into a belt on his hip, but that wasn’t what numbed her.
It was that she recognized him.
She’d seen him in the Night Zoo, coming after her and Mama. The memory returned to her, vivid. She remembered the way the boy had looked at her, the scary focus she’d seen in his gaze as he and another boy ran across the zoo’s grounds. That fierceness was gone now, and he seemed younger, maybe not much older than her.
“You.” He spoke first, his eyes going wider still as he seemed to come to the same conclusion. “You’re . . . you’re her.”
No, no, no. Koffi nearly swore. This was even worse than she could have imagined. She raised the gourd threateningly. It looked even less intimidating taken out of her bag, but she still held it firm.
“Get back.” She said the words through her teeth and hoped they sounded more intimidating than she felt. “I—I mean it.”
The boy looked from her to the gourd in her hand. To her dismay, his expression went from alarmed to distinctly confused. “Wait, were you going to hit me with that?”
Were. He was speaking in the past tense even though she was still holding the gourd. He was speaking as though he’d already decided she wasn’t a threat to him at all. For some inexplicable reason, that didn’t scare her, it annoyed her. She took a step closer, clutching the gourd so hard she heard two of her knuckles crack.
“I still will, if you don’t get out of my way.”
“Your grip is wrong.”
“What?”
“I mean . . .” Now there was no mistaking it; the boy looked . . . embarrassed. One of his hands dropped to his side, drumming against his side impossibly fast. He looked lost for a moment before speaking again.
“I saw you come in through the stable,” he said with more authority. “You’re trespassing, and you have exactly one minute to explain why.”
Koffi stepped back. This wasn’t part of the plan. She tried to think of what her friend would have done in a situation like this, but she and Jabir weren’t alike. Jabir was sweet-faced, and clever, and quick-thinking. He knew how to be charming, how to make people like him. Koffi didn’t know how to make people like her, but she did know how to lie.
“Money.” The word escaped Koffi before she could stop to consider it. “I’m here for . . . money.”
“Money?” The young man was still standing several feet away from her; now one of his eyebrows rose. “You came to the Temple of Lkossa for money?”
“That’s right.”
The young man shook his head. “There are literally a thousand other places in the city where it’s easier to get money.”
Not enough for what I need. She met his gaze and hoped she looked earnest. “Why pay for milk when I could steal the cow?”
“I don’t believe you.” He was still staring at her, and it was hard to read the look on his face. “I remember you. I let you go, just outside the Night Zoo.” His face grew stormy. “Why are you here?”
He doesn’t know. It registered in Koffi’s mind instantly. The last time this young man had seen her outside the Night Zoo’s walls, she’d been a runaway. He had no idea about Baaz or the deal she’d struck. She could play this to her advantage. She jutted her chin, hoping she looked defiant.
“Like I said, I need money.”
She didn’t like the way he was regarding her. Gone was any sense of hostility or wariness as he studied her.
“How did you do it?” he asked after a moment.
The question perplexed Koffi. That certainly wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “Do . . . what?”
“That thing with the Shetani,” said the young man. “You sent it away. You made it listen to you.”
At once, Koffi stiffened. Even as he said the words, memories of the night before last had already started to return to her. They were hazy recollections, but certain parts stayed fixed in her mind. She remembered an open field of lemongrass, a starry night sky, and a beast, larger and more terrible than any creature she’d looked after in the Night Zoo. There’d been no explanation for what she’d done when she’d seen it; her hand had reached out of its own accord as though pulled by a puppet master’s string. She had felt, in the space of that brief moment, strangely drawn to the beast. That wouldn’t bode well for her, especially if this boy took her to the Kuhani.
“I didn’t do anything.” She was still trying to sound confident, but her voice was failing her. The memory was still too real, too close. “I swear.”
“I know what I saw.” The young man stepped forward, and she instinctively mirrored the gesture by moving back. For a moment he looked undecided; then he raised his hands. “And I don’t think you’re here for money.”
Koffi cursed. There was no use denying it. She was caught. “Fine. I’m here because I’m . . . looking for a map,” she said as evenly as she could manage.
“A map?” This seemed to catch the young man off guard; his expression changed entirely. “A map of what?”
“The Greater Jungle.”
The boy’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“So that I can hunt down the Shetani.” Koffi felt the power of the words as they bounced off the hallway’s stone walls. She watched a momentary shock pass over the young man’s face, a look she didn’t fully understand, but she kept on. “I want to find it again.”
The young man cocked his head. “There are plenty of maps here in the temple,” he said slowly. “But you won’t be able to read any of them.”
Koffi stiffened. “What are you talking about?” This was a trick; he was clearly trying to throw her off. She wouldn’t let him.
The young man’s expression didn’t change. “The masters of the Temple of Lkossa read and write in the traditional language of academia, Old Zamani,” he explained. “It’s nothing like normal Zamani. It takes years of study to learn; even then, not everyone can pick it up.”
Koffi felt something inside her deflate. Mama had made sure she could read and write in Zamani—even if her penmanship was barely legible—but she couldn’t speak any other languages. If what the boy was saying was true, her plan was ruined before it had even begun.
“Unless . . .”
Koffi’s head snapped up. She’d almost forgotten the boy was there. He was eyeing her, tentative, uncertain.
“Unless?”
“Unless . . . you had someone who could read Old Zamani,” he said. “Someone like me.”
Koffi stopped short, bewildered. She’d been anticipating several different reactions, but that hadn’t been one of them. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the boy.
“Someone like you?”
“Sure.” The boy shrugged. “I was raised here in the temple. I could help you get the map, and I could translate it for you.”
It sounded too good to be true. Koffi shook her head. “I don’t have money or any other way to pay you.”
He raised his hands. “I wouldn’t charge anything,” he said quickly.
Even more suspicious. “Then what do you want?”
“I want in.”
“In?”
“On the hunt,” he said quickly. “I want to go with you, and I want to help you kill it.” He gave her a once-over. “That is what you’re planning, isn’t it?”
“I . . .” Koffi paused. In truth, that wasn’t what she’d been planning at all. Her plan depended on her bringing the Shetani back to Baaz very much alive. She thought again of the bargain she and Baaz had just struck, the time she had left to complete her mission. Monsoon season would be here soon, and going with this boy who also wanted the Shetani could improve her chances of finding the beast and bringing it back. Abruptly, Mama’s voice came to mind.
Sometimes,
though, you can’t lead with your heart. You have to think with your head.
In her heart, she didn’t trust the boy. He was a Yaba, probably well-off, her opposite in every possible way. The offer he was making sounded impossible, even more dangerous than her original plan, but . . .
But you don’t need to trust him, that same voice murmured. You just need to use him.
She had the power to make the Shetani obey her; she’d done it once before. Once she found it again, she could command it to do whatever she wanted. She only needed a guide, and this boy could be one to her.
It could work.
For several seconds, she said nothing, then: “Fine. You have a deal. You help me read the map that leads to the Shetani, I help you take it down.”
“A fair trade.” The young man nodded. He seemed to be considering something a moment. “You know,” he said tentatively, “if we’re going to be working together, it’d be helpful if I knew your name.”
“It’s Koffi.”
“I’m Ekon.”
Ekon, a distinctly Yaba name. She tried not to make a face. “First things first. Where’s the map?”
Ekon paused. “There are several in the Temple of Lkossa’s library, but the one I’m thinking of in particular is inside a journal, and it’s special.”
“Why?”
“It’s the only complete map of the entire Greater Jungle, charted almost a century ago by a scholar named—”
“I don’t actually need the history lesson.”
He frowned, looking almost offended. “It’s kept in the Kuhani’s private study, for safekeeping.”
“Right.” She nodded. “Then that’s where we’re going.”
CHAPTER 12
The Mamba and the Mongoose
Generally speaking, Ekon preferred not to meet the eyes of gods.
He moved through the worship hall’s crowds slowly, as quietly as he could, while other patrons milled about, chatting animatedly or otherwise waiting for the service to begin. Every few seconds, pressed between expensive fabrics and glittering jewels, he could pretend that he was lost among them, invisible in his simpler kaftan. It never lasted, though. Every time he started to get comfortable, he felt the glare of the six statues arranged at the other end of the room. Each of their stone-carved gazes was all too shrewd, as though they knew he was about to steal from them.