THE DISTANT SHOUTS of stockers ring over the faint clinks of construction. Kaea’s disgruntled barks reign over them. Though reluctant, she appears to be taking the assembly lead. After three days under her rule, the bridge is almost complete.
But as our path to the other side of the mountain grows, I’m no closer to finding any clues. No matter how far I get, the temple is an enigma, an endless mystery I can’t crack. Even loosening my hold on my magic isn’t enough to track down the girl. I’m running out of time.
If I’m to have any chance at finding the girl, I have to let all my magic in.
The realization haunts me, challenging everything I believe. But the alternative is far worse. Duty before self. Orïsha first.
Taking a deep breath, I release every last restraint bit by bit. The ache in my chest decreases. With time, the sting of magic rises to my skin.
I hope the scent of the sea will hit me first, but like every day thus far, only the scent of timber and coal fills the narrow halls.
When I turn a new corner, the scent becomes overwhelming; a turquoise cloud hangs in the air. I pass my hand through it, allowing Lekan’s lingering consciousness to break in.
“Lekan, stop!”
Shrieks of laughter ring when I turn another corner. I press against the cool stone as the sêntaro’s memories overtake me. Phantom children pass, each squealing and painted and naked. Their joy bounces and echoes, sharp against the rock walls.
They’re not real, I remind myself, heart pounding against my chest. But even as I try to hold on to the lie, the mischievous glint in a child’s eyes champions the truth.
Torch in hand, I move on, rushing through the temple’s narrow halls. For a moment a whiff of sea salt hangs in the air, shrouded in the scent of coal. I turn the corner and another turquoise cloud appears. I race to it, teeth clenching as the new flash of Lekan’s consciousness takes hold. His timber scent becomes overwhelming. The air shifts. A soft voice sounds.
“But do you have a name?”
My body goes rigid. Amari’s timid form materializes before my eyes. My sister stares at me in apprehension, fear clouding her amber gaze. An acidic scent wafts into my nostrils. My nose wrinkles at the burn. “Everyone has a name, child.”
“Oh, I did not mean—”
“Lekan,” his voice booms in my head. “Olamilekan.”
I almost laugh when I see Amari; she looks ridiculous in commoner clothes. But even after all this, she’s the same girl I’ve always known: a web of emotions spinning behind a wall of silence.
My own memory breaks in—the brief look we shared across the broken bridge. I thought I’d be her savior; instead I was the cause of her pain.
“My wealth … is increased?”
Lekan’s memory of the maji girl emerges. She flickers to life in the burn of the torchlight.
“You remember our tongue?”
“Bits and pieces.” She nods. “My mother taught it to me when I was young.”
Finally. After all these days, the scent of the sea hits me like a gust of wind. Yet for the first time since our paths collided, the girl’s image doesn’t make me reach for my sword. Through Lekan’s gaze she is soft yet striking. Her dark skin seems to glow in the torchlight, highlighting the ghosts behind her silver eyes.
She is the one. Lekan’s thoughts ring in my mind. Whatever happens, she must survive.
“The one for what?” I wonder out loud. Only silence answers.
The images of the girl and Amari fade away, leaving me staring after where they used to be. Her scent disappears. Though I try to reach for the flash again, nothing happens. I’m forced to move on.
As my footsteps echo through the temple’s nooks and crannies, I feel the change in my body. Suppressing my curse has become a constant drain. A draw on every breath. Though the buzz of magic in my head still makes my stomach clench, my body revels in its new freedom. It’s as if I’ve spent years drowning underwater.
For a moment, I get to suck in air.
With deep breaths, I press on through the temple, traversing the halls with a new vigor. I chase after the ghosts of Lekan, searching for answers, hoping to find the girl again. When I turn another corner, the scent of his soul overwhelms me. I enter the domed room. Remnants of Lekan’s consciousness pulse stronger than they have all week. A turquoise cloud seems to encompass the entire space. Before I can brace myself, the room flashes in white.
Though I stand in the shadows, Lekan’s consciousness bathes the jagged walls in light. My jaw drops as I study the stunning mural of the gods. Each portrait floods with brilliant color.
“What is this?” I breathe, in awe of the magnificent sight. The paintings are so expressive they appear to come to life.
I lift my torch to the gods and goddesses, to the maji who dance at their feet. It’s imposing. Invading. It unravels everything I’ve been taught to think.
Growing up, Father led me to believe that those who clung to the myth of the gods were weak. They relied on beings they could never see, dedicating their lives to faceless entities.
I chose to place my faith in the throne. In Father. Orïsha. But now, staring at the gods, I can’t even bring myself to speak.
I marvel at the oceans and forests that spring from their touch, at the world of Orïsha created by their hand. A strange joy seems to breathe within the layers of paint, filling Orïsha with a light I didn’t know it could hold.
Seeing the mural forces me to see the truth, confirming everything Father told me in the throne room. The gods are real. Alive. Connecting the threads of the maji’s lives. But if all that is true, why in the skies’ name has one forged a connection with me?
I scan each portrait again, observing the different types of magic that seem to spring from the gods’ hands. When I come to a god dressed in rich, cobalt robes, I pause. My cursed magic flares at the sight of him.
The god stands tall, imposing with chiseled muscles. A dark blue ipélè stretches across his broad chest like a shawl, vibrant against his dark brown skin. Turquoise smoke twists in his hands, just like the wispy clouds that appear with my curse. When I move my torchlight, a pulse of energy travels under my scalp. Lekan’s voice booms in my head as another blue cloud appears.
“Orí took the peace from Sky Mother’s head to become the God of Mind, Spirit, and Dreams. On earth, he shared this unique gift with his worshippers, allowing them to connect with all human beings.”
“God of Mind, Spirit, and Dreams…,” I whisper to myself, putting all the pieces together. The voices. The flickers of others’ emotions. The strange dreamscape I found myself trapped in. This is it.
The god of my origin.
Anger thrashes inside me with the realization. What right do you have? A few days ago I didn’t even know this god existed, yet he took it upon himself to poison me?
“Why?” I shout, voice echoing inside the dome. I almost expect the god to shout back, yet only silence answers me.
“You’ll regret this,” I mutter to myself, not knowing if that makes me insane or if somewhere, despite all the noise of the world, he can hear me. The bastard should rue this day. The magic he’s cursed me with will be magic’s undoing.
My insides twist and I whip around, stomach clenching as I call on my curse even more. There’s no fighting it. To find the answers I need, there’s only one place I can go.
I slide to the ground and close my eyes, letting the world fade as magic slithers through my veins. If I’m going to kill this curse, I need it all.
I need to dream.