THE NEXT MORNING ZU is quick to bound into my tent.
“There’s so much I have to show you.” She shakes my arm. “Zélie, come on. It’s almost midday!”
With enough prodding, I concede and sit up, working through the new coils in my hair to scratch my scalp.
“Be quick.” Zu shoves a sleeveless red dashiki into my arms. “Everyone’s waiting outside.”
When she leaves, I offer Tzain a smile, but he keeps his back to me. Even though I can tell he’s awake, he doesn’t make a sound. The uncomfortable silence that burned between us last night returns, the frustrated sighs and empty words filling our tent. No matter how many times I apologized, Tzain wouldn’t respond.
“Do you want to come?” I ask quietly. “A walk could be good for your leg.”
Nothing. It’s like I’m speaking to the air.
“Tzain…”
“I’m staying.” He shifts and stretches his neck. “I don’t feel like walking with everyone.”
I remember Zu’s words. I assumed she meant Kwame and Folake, but Inan’s probably right outside. If Tzain’s still this upset, seeing Inan will only make everything worse.
“Okay.” I slip into the dashiki and tie my hair back with a blue-and-red-patterned scarf Zu lent me. “I’ll be back soon. I’ll try to bring you some food.”
“Thanks.”
I latch onto the response, repeating it in my head. If Tzain can manage a grumble of gratitude now, maybe things will turn out alright.
“Zél.” He looks over his shoulder, meeting my eye. “Be careful. I don’t want you alone with him.”
I nod and leave the tent, the weight of Tzain’s warning dragging me down. But as soon as I step into the camp, all the heaviness evaporates.
Sunlight fills the spacious valley; every acre of the lush greens explodes with life. Young divîners bustle through the maze of pop-up shacks, tents, and carts. Each person shines with white hair and vibrant patterns woven throughout their dashikis and spirited kaftans. It’s like Sky Mother’s promise laid before my eyes, come to life after all this time.
“Gods.” I spin, taking it all in as Zu waves me over. I’ve never seen so many divîners in one spot, especially with so much … joy. The crowd laughs and smiles through the hills, white hair braided, dreaded, and flowing. An unfamiliar freedom breathes in their shoulders, in their gait, in their eyes.
“Look out!”
I throw my hands up, smiling as a group of young children run past. The oldest among the crowd look to be in their twenties, none older than twenty-five. Of all the divîners before us, they’re the most bewildering to see; never in my life have I encountered so many grown divîners outside the prison cells or the stocks.
“Finally!” Zu hooks her arm in mine, sporting a smile almost too big for her face. She pulls me past the yellow-painted cart where Inan and Amari are waiting. Amari grins when she sees me, but her face falls when she doesn’t find Tzain.
“He wanted to rest,” I answer her unasked question. And he didn’t want to see your brother.
Inan looks at me, handsome in a cobalt kaftan with fitted, patterned pants. He looks different without the harsh lines and jagged metal of his uniform. Softer. Warmer. His streak flashes bright in his hair, for once not hidden behind a helmet or black dye. Our eyes linger on each other, but it takes only a second for Zu to whip between us and pull us both along.
“We’ve made progress, but we still have a ways to go if we’re going to be ready for tonight.” She seems to speak a million meters a second, always discovering something new she has to say before finishing her last thought.
“This is where the old stories are going to be.” Zu points to a makeshift stage occupying a grassy knoll between two tents. “There’s a divîner from Jimeta who’s telling them. You have to meet her, she’s enchanting. We think she’ll be a Tider. Oh, and this! This is where we’ll have the divîners touch the scroll. I can’t wait to watch that, it’ll be incredible!”
Zulaikha moves through the crowd with the magnetism of a queen. Divîners stop and stare as she passes, pointing and whispering about us because she’s holding my hand. Usually I hate when others stare, but today I find myself reveling in it. It’s not like the guards or kosidán, who want me to disappear. The divîners’ gazes hold a reverence, a new kind of respect.
“Here’s the best part.” Zu gestures to a large clearing being decorated with painted lanterns and colorful sheets. “This is where the opening procession will take place. Zélie, you must be in it!”
“Oh, you don’t want that.” I shake my head fervently, but I laugh when Zu grabs my wrist and jumps up and down. Her joy is contagious; even Inan can’t help but smile.
“You would be so great!” Her eyes go wide. “We don’t have a Reaper yet, and Oya’s attire would fit you perfectly. It has this long red skirt and golden top—Inan! Don’t you think she would look incredible?”
Inan’s eyes widen and he stammers, looking between me and Zu as if one of us will release him from answering.
“Zu, it’s fine.” I wave her off. “I’m sure you can find someone else.”
“Probably be for the best.” Inan recovers his voice. His eyes drift to me for a moment, before looking away. “But yes, I think Zélie would look beautiful.”
My face heats, growing warmer when Amari studies us. I turn away and focus my attention elsewhere, trying to ignore the way Inan’s answer makes something inside me tingle. Once again the way he carried me into the camp forces itself back into my mind.
“Zu, what’s that?” I point to a black cart with a long line of divîners.
“That’s where Folake’s painting the clan baajis.” Zu’s eyes light up. “You have to get one!”
“Baajis?” Amari’s nose scrunches in confusion.
Zu gestures to the symbol painted on her neck. She grabs Inan and Amari by the hands and pulls, running ahead. “They’re lovely. Come on, you have to see it now!”
Zu moves fast, leading them farther through the crowd. I consider a brisker pace, but there’s something about walking through this camp that makes me want to slow down. Each time I pass a new divîner, my mind runs wild imagining all the different types of maji they could become. There could be future Winders on my left, or Seers on my right. With ten clans, there’s even a chance a future Reaper is right in front of m—
A stranger bumps into me, clad in red and black. He grips my waist, steadying me before I tumble back.
“Apologies.” He smiles. “My feet have a nasty habit of following my heart.”
“It’s fi…” My voice trails off. The stranger looks like no one I’ve ever seen, no descendant of Orïshan blood. His complexion is like sandstone, rich with copper undertones. Unlike the round eyes of Orïshans, his are angular and hooded, highlighting his stormy gray eyes.
“Roën.” He smiles again. “It’s a delight. I hope you can find the heart to forgive my clumsiness.” His accent clips the t’s and rolls the r’s in his speech. He has to be a merchant, some trader from another land.
Finally.
I look the young man up and down. Tzain’s told me about meeting the occasional foreigner while traveling Orïsha for his agbön matches, but I’ve never met one myself. Over the years I’ve heard descriptions of unique traders in crowded markets and travelers passing through Orïsha’s busiest cities. I always hoped one would come to Ilorin, but they never make it all the way to our eastern coast.
Questions fill my mind, but then I realize his hand is still on the small of my back. My cheeks warm as I slide away from his touch. I shouldn’t stare, but from the smirk on Roën’s lips, I can almost guarantee he likes it.
“Till we meet again.” He winks and struts off, holding my gaze. But before he can take another step, Inan reappears and grabs his arm.
The smile fades from Roën’s eyes as he glances at Inan’s grip. “I don’t know your intention, brother. But that’s a good way to lose a hand.”
“So is pickpocketing.” Inan sets his jaw. “Give it back.”
The gray-eyed stranger glances at me; with a sheepish shrug he removes a compacted staff from the pocket of his draped pants. My eyes widen as I reach for my empty waistband.
“How the hell did you do that?” I swipe back the staff. Mama Agba’s trained us to feel a thief’s touch. I should’ve sensed his hand.
“First bump.”
“Then why’d you linger?” I ask. “If you’re that smooth, you could’ve gotten away.”
“I couldn’t resist.” Roën grins like a foxer, revealing teeth that shine a little too bright. “From behind I saw only the beautiful staff. I didn’t know it’d be on a beautiful girl.”
I glare at him, but it only makes his smile wider. “As I said before, love”—he gives a little bow—“till we meet again.”
With that he saunters off, walking over to Kwame in the distance. They grasp each other’s fists in a familiar greeting, exchanging words I can’t hear.
Kwame eyes me for a second before the two disappear into a tent. I can’t help but wonder what Kwame would be doing meeting with a man like that.
“Thanks,” I say to Inan as I run my fingers over the carved staff markings. It’s the only thing I have left from Ilorin. The only tie to the life I once had. I think back to Mama Agba, wishing I could see her and Baba again.
“If I knew all it took to distract you was a charming smile, I would’ve tried that ages ago.”
“It wasn’t his smile.” I lift my chin. “I’ve never seen someone from another land.”
“Ah, was that all it was?” Inan grins, subtle yet completely disarming. In our time together I’ve seen everything from rage to pain play across his lips, but never anything close to an actual smile. It creates a dimple in his cheek, crinkling the skin around his amber eyes.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I turn back to my staff. Between the kaftan and the smile, it’s hard to believe I’m still looking at the little prince—
“Ugh!”
Inan’s grin transforms to a wince. He clenches his teeth and grips his side.
“What’s wrong?” I put my hand on his back. “Do you need me to get Zu?”
He shakes his head, exhaling a frustrated breath. “This isn’t the type of thing she could heal.”
I tilt my head until I realize the meaning behind his words. He looked so different in a cobalt kaftan I didn’t even notice the air around him was cold.
“You’re suppressing your magic.” My heart falls in my chest. “You don’t have to, Inan. No one here knows who you are.”
“It’s not that.” Inan braces himself before standing up straight. “There are too many people. I have to control it. If I let it out, someone could get hurt.”
Once again, I get a glimpse of the broken little prince who charged me with his blade; I knew he was scared, but was he really this afraid of himself?
“I can help you.” I drop my hand. “At least a little. If you learned how to control it, it wouldn’t hurt you like this.”
Inan pulls at the collar of his kaftan, though it hangs loose around his neck. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“It’s fine.” I grab his arm, leading him away from the crowds. “Come on. I know a place we can go.”
* * *
THE GOMBE RIVER TRICKLES BESIDE US, filling the air with its song. I thought the new surroundings might calm Inan, but now that we sit, I realize I need calming myself. The nerves that hit when Zu asked me to lead the maji return, stronger this time. I don’t know how to help Inan. I’m still trying to figure Reaper magic out myself.
“Talk to me.” I take a deep breath and feign the confidence I wish I had. “What does your magic feel like? When does it hit you the strongest?”
Inan swallows, fingers twitching around a phantom object. “I don’t know. I don’t understand anything about it at all.”
“Here.” I reach into my pocket and place a bronze piece into his palm. “Stop fidgeting, you’re making me itch.”
“What’s this?”
“Something you can play with without poisoning yourself. Have at it and calm down.”
Inan smiles again, this time fully, one that reaches and softens his eyes. He runs his thumb over the cheetanaire engraved in the coin’s center, marking it as Orïshan. “I don’t think I’ve ever held a bronze piece.”
“Ugh,” I choke in disgust. “Keep facts like that to yourself or I won’t be able to stomach this.”
“Forgive me.” Inan tests the weight of the coin in his palm. “And thank you.”
“Thank me by making this work. When was the last time you really let your magic flow?”
With the bronze piece passing between his fingers, Inan begins to think. “That temple.”
“Chândomblé?”
He nods. “It amplified my abilities. When I was trying to find you, I sat under a painting of Orí and … I don’t know. It was the first time I felt like there was something I could control.”
The dreamscape. I think back to the last time we were there, wondering what I must’ve said. Did I give something away?
“How does it work?” I ask. “There are times when it feels like you’re reading a book inside my head.”
“More like a puzzle than a book,” Inan corrects me. “It’s not always clear, but when your thoughts and emotions are intense, I feel them, too.”
“You get that with everyone?”
He shakes his head. “Not to the same degree. Everyone else feels like being caught in the rain. You’re the whole tsunami.”
I freeze at the power of his words, trying to imagine what that would be like. The fear. The pain. The memories of Mama being ripped away.
“Sounds awful,” I whisper.
“Not always.” He stares at me like he can see straight into my heart, straight into everything I am. “There are times when it’s amazing. Beautiful, even.”
My heart swells in my chest. A coil of hair falls in front of my face, and Inan tucks it behind my ear. Goosebumps prickle down my neck when his fingers brush my skin.
I clear my throat and look away, ignoring the thumping inside my head. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know I can’t allow myself to feel like this.
“Your magic is strong.” I push the focus back. “Believe it or not, it comes naturally to you. You channel things instinctively that most maji would need a powerful incantation to do.”
“How can I control it?” Inan asks. “What do I do?”
“Close your eyes,” I instruct. “Repeat after me. I don’t know Connector incantations, but I do know how to ask for help from the gods.”
Inan closes his eyes and grips the bronze piece tight.
“It’s simple—Orí, bá mi s0r0.”
“Ba me sorro?”
“Bá mi s0r0.” I correct his pronunciation with a smile. It’s endearing how clumsy Yoruba sounds on his lips. “Repeat it. Picture Orí. Open yourself up and ask for his help. That’s what being a maji is about. With the gods on your side, you’re never truly alone.”
Inan looks down. “They’re really always there?”
“Always.” I think back to all those years I turned my back on them. “Even in the darkest times the gods are always there. Whether we acknowledge them or not, they always have a plan.”
Inan’s hand closes over the bronze piece, face turning pensive.
“Alright.” He nods. “I want to try.”
“Orí, bá mi s0r0.”
“Orí, bá mi s0r0,” he chants under his breath, fingers twisting around the bronze piece. At first nothing happens, but as he continues, the air begins to heat. A soft blue glow appears in his hands. The light creeps its way over to me.
I close my eyes as the world spins away, a hot rush, just like the other day. When the spinning ends, I’m back in the dreamscape.
But this time when the reeds tickle my feet, I don’t have to feel afraid.