HE TRIED TO PROTECT ME.
In all the questions and confusion, this surprise rises above the rest. It surges when Inan retrieves the sunstone and places it in my hands. It swells when he lifts me in his arms and holds me tight against his chest.
Following the young girl with a crown of white hair, Inan carries me past the gate. As we pass, the fighters remove their masks and reveal their white locks. Almost every person behind the gate is a divîner, too.
What is this?
I try to make sense of everything through the haze of pain: the Burner, the countless divîners, the child who appears to lead them. But any notion of what this could all mean vanishes when we finally lay eyes on their camp.
In the center of the mammoth trees lies a convergence of several valleys. The dip creates a depression in the earth, forming a wide plain filled with bright tents, wagons, and carts. From afar the sweet scent of fried plantain and jollof rice hits me, somehow rising above the copper tang of my own blood. I catch murmurs of Yoruba in the crowd filled with the most divîners I’ve seen since I was a child.
We pass a group of divîners laying flowers around a tall lavender vase. A shrine. A tribute to Sky Mother.
“Who’re all these people?” Inan asks the young girl they call Zu. “What is it you’re doing?”
“Give me a moment. Please. I promise, I’ll return your friends and answer your questions, but I need some time.”
Zu whispers to a divîner beside her, a girl with a green patterned skirt and matching wrap tied around her white hair.
“They weren’t in the tent,” the divîner whispers back.
“Then find them.” The girl’s voice is strained. “They didn’t make it past the gate, so they can’t have gotten far. Tell them we have their friends. We know they were telling the truth.”
I strain my neck to hear more, but an ache ripples through my core. When I writhe, Inan holds me closer. The sound of his beating heart pulses through my ears, steady and strong, like the crest of the tides. I find myself leaning into the sound. Again, my greatest confusion rises.
“That Burner would’ve killed you,” I whisper. Just lying in the maji’s presence seared my skin. It still itches, raw and red, a patch on my arm burnt and blistering.
As it prickles, it brings me back to the scorching breaths I thought would be my last. For the first time, magic wasn’t my ally.
It was almost my end.
“What were you thinking?” I ask.
“You were in danger,” he answers. “I wasn’t.”
He reaches down and grazes a cut on my chin. A strange flutter travels through me at his touch. Any possible response jumbles in my throat. I don’t know what to say to that.
Inan still bathes in the glow of the sunstone’s touch. With his magic still at the surface, his copper complexion is rich with health. In the lantern’s light, his bones are elegantly pronounced instead of harsh and protruding against his skin.
“This’ll do.” Zu brings us into a tent where a few makeshift cots have been set up.
“Set her down here.” Zu points to a cot, and Inan lays me down with care. As my head hits the rough cotton, I fight a wave of nausea.
“We need liquor and bandages for the wounds,” Inan says.
Zu shakes her head. “I’ll take care of it.”
She presses her palms to the gash in my side, and I cringe. A searing stabs at my insides as she chants.
“Babalúayé, dúró tì mí bayi bayi. Fún mi ní agbára, kí nle fún àwọn tókù ní agbára—”
I force my head up; a bright orange light glows beneath Zu’s hands. The pain of her touch transforms into a numbing warmth. The searing inside me cools to a dull ache.
The soft light from her hands kneads its way into my skin, spreading throughout every ripped muscle and torn ligament.
I let out a long breath as Zu’s magic mends my wounds.
“Are you alright?”
I look up; I didn’t even realize I was squeezing Inan’s hand. My face heats as I let go and run my fingers over where the arrow pierced me. Wet blood still trickles down my skin, but the wound is completely healed.
Once again questions arise, louder now that they don’t have to fight through the haze of my pain. In the past hour, I’ve seen more different types of magic than I’ve seen in the past decade.
“You need to start talking.” I study Zu; the russet hue of her brown skin is strangely familiar, like the fishermen who sailed up to Ilorin every two moons to exchange their saltwater trout for our cooked tigerfish.
“What’s going on? What is this place? Where are the bone dagger and scroll? And where are our siblings? You said you had my brother—”
I pause as the tent flap flies open; Amari stumbles in with a half-conscious Tzain slung around her arm. I jump to my feet to help her. My brother is so battered he can hardly stand.
“What have you done?” I yell.
Amari withdraws the bone dagger and points it at Zu’s neck. “Heal him!”
The girl steps back, palms raised.
“Set him down.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ll answer all your questions now.”
* * *
WE SIT IN RIGID SILENCE, digesting everything as Zulaikha heals Tzain’s leg and head. Behind her, Kwame and Folake stand at attention, stances tense.
When Kwame shifts, my hand moves to my leather pack, searching for the heat of the sunstone under its skin. It’s still hard to look at him without imposing the memory of flames around his face.
I lean against Nailah, relieved to be reunited after Zu ordered her people to release my ryder. I tuck my pack behind her paw to keep it and the stone out of sight. But when Zu’s limbs begin to shake from the strain of her incantation, I find myself wanting to pull out the sunstone and lend it to her.
Watching Zu, it’s like I’m five years old again, trailing after Mama with bandages and pots of heated water. Whenever the village Healer couldn’t tend to the worst of Ibadan’s sick alone, she and Mama would work together. Side by side they sat, the Healer using the magic of her touch while Mama kept the patient from taking his last breath. The best Reapers don’t only command death, little Zél. We also help others live.
I stare at Zu’s small hands, remembering the hands of my mother. Though young, Zu exhibits great skill over her magic. It all begins to make sense when we learn that she was the very first divîner to touch the scroll.
“I didn’t realize what I had,” she speaks, voice scratchy from the toll of her magic. Folake hands her a wooden cup of water. Zu nods in thanks before taking a sip. “We weren’t ready when Saran’s guards descended in Warri and attacked. We barely escaped after they took the scroll away.”
Inan and Amari stare at each other, a silent conversation playing in their eyes. The guilt that’s crept onto Inan’s face all day spreads to Amari’s.
“After Warri, I knew we needed a place where we could be safe. A place where the guards couldn’t hunt us. It started as only a few tents, but when we sent coded messages to the divîners of Orïsha, the camp began to grow.”
Inan lurches forward. “You built this settlement in under a moon?”
“It doesn’t feel like it.” Zu shrugs. “It’s like the gods kept sending divîners this way. Before I knew what was happening, the camp built itself.”
The ghost of a smile comes to Zu’s face, but fades when she turns to Amari and Tzain. She swallows hard and looks down, running her hands up and down her arms.
“The things we did to you—” Zu stops herself. “The things I allowed them to do … I’m so sorry. I promise you, it made me sick. But when our scouts saw a noble with the scroll, we couldn’t take the risk.” She squeezes her eyes shut, a thin line of tears breaking through. “We couldn’t let what happened in Warri happen here.”
Zu’s tears make my own eyes prickle. Kwame’s face pinches with pain. I want to hate him for what he did to Tzain, but I can’t. I’m no better. If anything, I’m worse. If Inan hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve stabbed that masked divîner to death just to get answers. He’d be facedown in the dirt instead of lying on a cot, being treated as he awaits Zu’s healing.
“I’m sorry,” Kwame forces out, voice low and strained. “But I promised these people I would do anything to keep them safe.”
My mind paints the flames around his face once more, but somehow they aren’t as menacing. His magic made my blood run cold, but he fought for his people. Our people. Even the gods wouldn’t fault him for that. How can I?
Zu palms the tears away from her cheeks. In that moment she appears so much younger than the world has allowed her to be. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and pull her into my arms.
“I’m so sorry,” she cries into my shoulder.
“It’s okay.” I rub her back. “You were trying to protect your people. You did what you had to do.”
I lock eyes with Amari and Tzain, and they nod in agreement. We can’t blame her. Not when we would do the exact same thing.
“Here.” Zulaikha pulls the scroll from the pocket of her black dashiki and presses it into my hands. “Whatever you need, everyone here is behind you. They listen to me because I was the first to touch the scroll, but if what Amari said is true, you’ve been chosen by the gods. Whatever your command, we’ll all follow it.”
Discomfort bristles beneath my skin at the thought. I can’t lead these people. I can barely lead myself.
“Thank you, but you’re doing good work here. Just keep these people safe. Our job is to get to Zaria and charter a ship. The solstice is only five days away.”
“I have family in Zaria.” Folake speaks up. “Traders we can trust. If I go with you, I can get you their ship.”
“I’ll go, too.” Zulaikha grabs my hand, hope tangible in her tiny grasp. “There are enough people here for security, and I’m sure you guys could use a Healer.”
“If you’ll have me…” Kwame’s voice trails off. He clears his throat and forces himself to meet Tzain’s and Amari’s eyes. “I would like to fight with you. Fire is always a good defense.”
Tzain fixes Kwame with a cool glare, hand rubbing his wounded thigh. Though Zu stopped his bleeding, she wasn’t strong enough to take away all the pain.
“Protect my sister, or the next time you close your eyes, you’ll be the one with a dagger in the leg.”
“I can accept that.” Kwame extends a hand. Tzain reaches up and shakes it. A comfortable silence fills the tent as an apology travels between their grips.
“We have to celebrate!” A wide smile erupts on Zu’s face, so bright and innocent it makes her look like the child she should get to be. Her joy is so infectious, even Tzain finds himself with a grin. “I’ve been wanting to do something fun, a way to bring everyone in the camp together. I know it isn’t the typical time, but we should hold the Àjọy0 tomorrow.”
“Àjọy0?” I lean forward, unable to believe my ears. When I was a child, celebrating Sky Mother and the birth of the gods was the best part of my year. Baba would always purchase Mama and me matching kaftans, silk and beaded, with long trains that flowed down our backs. In the last Àjọy0 before the Raid, Mama saved up all year so she could buy gold-plated rings to braid throughout my hair.
“It would be perfect.” Zu’s voice speeds up as her excitement grows. “We could clear out tents and hold the opening procession. Find a place for the sacred stories. We could build a stage and let each maji touch the scroll. Everyone can watch their powers return!”
A prickle of hesitation runs through me, burning with the echo of Kwame’s flames. Just a day ago, turning all these divîners into maji would’ve been a dream, but for the first time I pause. More magic means more potential, more wrong hands for the sunstone to fall into. But if I keep a close eye on it … if all these divîners already follow Zu …
“What do you think?” Zu asks.
I look between her and Kwame. He breaks into a smile.
“That sounds amazing,” I decide. “It’ll be an Àjọy0 people will never forget.”
“What about the ritual?” Amari asks.
“If we leave right after the celebration, we’ll have enough time. We still have five days to get to Zaria, and using Folake’s boat will cut our time in half.”
Zu’s face goes so bright, it’s like its own source of light. She squeezes my hand, and I’m surprised at the warmth it fills me with. It’s more than another ally. It’s the start of our community.
“Then we’ll do it!” Zu grabs Amari’s hand, too, almost jumping up and down. “It’s the least we can do. I can think of no better way to honor the four of you.”
“Three,” Tzain corrects us. His terseness cuts through my budding excitement. He nods at Inan. “He’s not with us.”
Tightness gathers in my chest as Inan and Tzain lock eyes. I knew this moment was coming. I just hoped we’d have more time.
Zu nods stiffly, sensing the tension. “We’ll let you talk among yourselves. There’s a lot we have to do if we’re going to be ready for tomorrow.”
She rises to her feet, and Kwame and Folake follow, leaving us with only silence. I’m forced to stare at the scroll in my hands. What now? Where do we—are we even a “we”?
“I know this will be hard to digest.” Inan speaks first. “But things changed when you and Amari were taken. I’m aware that it’s a lot to ask, but if your sister can learn to trust me—”
Tzain whips to me, his glower hitting like a staff to the gut. His face says it all: Tell me this isn’t true.
“Tzain, if it weren’t for him, I would’ve been taken, too—”
Because he wanted to kill me himself. When the fighters attacked, he still wanted to drive his sword through my heart.
I take a breath and start over, running my hands over my staff. I can’t afford to mess this up. I need Tzain to listen to me.
“I didn’t trust him, not at first. But Inan fought by my side. When I was in danger, he threw himself in harm’s way.” My voice seems to shrink. Unable to look at anyone, I stare at my hands. “He’s seen things, felt things I could never explain to anyone else.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” Tzain crosses his arms.
“Because…” I look back at Inan. “He’s a maji.”
“What?” Amari’s jaw drops and she whips toward Inan. Though I’ve seen her eye the streak in his hair before, now the realization dawns.
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” Inan says. “It happened sometime in Lagos.”
“Right before you burned our village to the ground?” Tzain yells.
Inan clenches his jaw tight. “I didn’t know then—”
“But you knew when you cut Lekan down.”
“He attacked us. My admiral feared for our lives—”
“And when you tried to kill my sister last night? Were you a maji then?” Tzain tries to rise but grimaces, hand flying to his thigh.
“Let me help,” I start, but Tzain throws off my hand.
“Tell me you’re not this stupid.” A different kind of pain flashes behind his eyes. “You can’t trust him, Zél. Maji or not, he isn’t on our side.”
“Tzain—”
“He tried to kill you!”
“Please.” Inan speaks up. “I know you have no reason to trust me. But I don’t want to fight anymore. We all desire the same thing.”
“What’s that?” Tzain scoffs.
“A better Orïsha. A kingdom where maji like your sister don’t have to live in constant fear. I want to make it better.” Inan locks his amber eyes with mine. “I want to fix it with you.”
I force myself to look away, afraid of what my face will betray. I turn to Tzain, hoping something in Inan’s words moved him. But he’s clenching his fists so hard his forearms shake.
“Tzain—”
“Forget it.” He rises with a wince and heads for the tent exit, fighting through the pain in his leg. “You’re always screwing everything up. Why stop now?”