538.
That’s how many times my body was ripped apart.
How many spirits perished for sport. How many innocent souls shriek in my ears.
Corpses float among the wood in the never-ending sea of blood. Their presence stains the air, invading my lungs with every breath.
Gods, help us. I close my eyes, trying to drown the tragedy out. Through it all, the cheers never stop. The praise never ends. As we stand on the platform, the crowd rejoices as if there’s a reason to celebrate this bloodbath.
Beside me, Tzain holds me close; he hasn’t really let go since he carried me from the ship. He keeps his expression vacant, but I can sense his remorse.
Though the competitor in him has prevailed, we’re still covered in the blood of those who have fallen. We may have triumphed, but this is no victory.
To my right, Amari stands still, hands clenched around her bladeless hilt. She hasn’t said one word since we got off that ship, but the laborers told me she was the one who protected me and killed the other captain. For the first time, looking at her doesn’t remind me of Saran or Inan. I see the girl who stole the scroll.
I see the seeds of a warrior.
The announcer forces a grin as Dele and Baako roll the shimmering chest of gold away. Gold he probably intended to keep, gold traded for every death.
The crowd roars as our crew is awarded their prize, but not one laborer smiles at the bounty. Wealth and freedom from the stocks are nothing when this horror will haunt them every night.
“Get on with it.” I grit my teeth, stepping away from Tzain’s protection. “You’ve already had your show. Give up the sunstone.”
The announcer narrows his eyes, his brown skin crinkling with hard lines.
“The show’s never over,” he hisses away from the metal cone. “Especially when it involves a maggot.”
The announcer’s words make my lips twitch. Though my body feels hollow, I can’t help but plot. How many animations would it take to drag him into the carnage, drown him at the bottom of his own red sea?
The announcer must sense my silent threat, because the smirk falls from his lips. He steps back and raises his cone, turning back to the crowd.
“And now…” His voice booms through the arena. He sells the performance with his words, though his face barely hides his dismay. “I present … the stone of immortality!”
Even from a distance, the sunstone’s warmth seeps into my shivering bones. Oranges and yellows pulse behind its crystal exterior like molten lava. Like a moth, I’m drawn to its holy light.
The last piece, I think, remembering Lekan’s words. With the scroll, the stone, and the dagger, we finally have everything we need. We can head to the sacred temple and perform the ritual. We can bring magic back.
“You’ve got this.” Tzain places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Whatever happens, I’m right by your side.”
“Me too,” Amari says softly, regaining her voice. Though dried blood coats her face, her eyes are reassuring.
I nod at her and step forward, reaching for the golden stone. For the first time the crowd around me falls silent, their curiosity heavy in the air.
I brace myself for what might come from holding a living fragment of Sky Mother’s soul. But once my fingers touch the polished surface, I know nothing could have prepared me for this.
Like the awakening, touching the stone fills me with a force more powerful than anything I’ve ever known. The sunstone’s energy warms my blood, electrifying the ashê surging through each vein.
The crowd gasps in amazement as the stone’s light shines between the gaps in my fingers. Even the announcer backs up; as far as he knows, the stone was only a part of his hoax.
The surge continues to fill me, bubbling up like steam. I close my eyes and Sky Mother appears, more glorious than anything I’ve ever imagined.
Her silver eyes shine bright against her ebony skin, framed by the crystals dangling from her headdress. Tight white coils fall around her face like rain, twisting with the power radiating from her being.
Her spirit swells through me like lightning breaking through a thunder cloud. It’s more than the feeling of breathing.
It’s the very essence of life.
“4mí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—” I whisper the first few words of the incantation under my breath, relishing a rush like no other. With the sunstone’s power, I could call hundreds of animations from the dead. I could command an unstoppable army.
We could rip through the arena, take down the announcer, punish every spectator who cheered on the slaughter for sport. But that’s not what Sky Mother wants. It’s not what these spirits need.
One by one, the shrieking dead race through me, not to become animations, but to escape. It’s just like the cleanse Mama led every full moon. A final purge to help the spirits pass on to alâfia.
As the souls escape their trauma for the peace of the afterlife, the image of Sky Mother in my mind begins to fade. A goddess with skin like the night takes her place, clothed in waves of red, beautiful with her dark brown eyes.
My gods.
Oya shines in my mind like a torch against the dark. Unlike the chaos I glimpsed when I used blood magic, this vision holds an ethereal grace. She stands still, but it’s like the entire world shifts in her presence. A triumphant smile spreads across her lips—
“Ugh!” My eyes fly open. The sunstone glows so brightly in my hands, I have to look away. Though the initial rush of its touch has passed, I can feel its power humming in my bones. It’s like Sky Mother’s spirit has spread through my body, stitching every wound left by the blood magic’s destruction.
With time, the blinding light fades and Oya’s stunning image disappears from my head. I stumble backward, clutching the stone as I fall into Tzain’s arms.
“What just happened?” Tzain whispers, eyes wide with amazement. “The air … It felt like the whole arena was shaking.”
I press the sunstone to my chest, trying to hold on to the images that danced in my mind. The light that glinted off the crystals in Sky Mother’s headdress; the way Oya’s skin shimmered, dark and enchanting like the queen of the night.
This is how Mama must’ve felt.… The realization makes my heart swell. This is why she loved her magic.
This is how it feels to be alive.
“The Immortal!” a man from the crowd shouts, and I blink, reorienting myself to the arena. The cry travels throughout the stands until everyone joins in. They chant the false title, rabid in their praise.
“Are you alright?” Amari asks.
“More than alright,” I reply with a smile.
We have the stone, the scroll, the dagger.
And now we actually have a chance.