MY BODY WAKES before my mind. Though there’s an improvement from the searing agony, a throbbing ache still runs through my back. It stings as I rise; I flinch from the pain. What is this? Where am I?
I gaze at the canvas tent erected around my cot. Everything in my mind sits in a haze except the echo of Inan’s embrace. My heart flutters at the thought, taking me back to his arms. Parts of him still feel so close—the softness of his lips, the strong grip of his hands. But other parts already feel so far away, as if they happened a lifetime ago. Words he said, tears we wept. The way the reeds tickled my back, reeds I’ll never see again—
—Saran’s black eyes watch as the lieutenant carves into my back.
“I wouldn’t be doing my job as king if I didn’t remind you what you are—”
I grip the rough sheets. Pain ripples through my skin. I stifle a groan as someone enters the tent.
“You’re up!”
A large, freckled maji with light brown skin and a head full of white braids walks to my side. I flinch at her touch at first, but when heat travels through my cotton tunic, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Khani,” she introduces herself. “It’s nice to see you awake.”
I glance at her again. The vague memory of watching two girls who looked like her compete in an agbön match surfaces. “You have a sister?”
She nods. “A twin, but I’m the cuter one.”
I try to smile at her joke, but the joy doesn’t come.
“How bad is it?”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own. Not anymore. It’s small. Empty. A well run dry.
“Oh, it’s … I’m sure with time…”
I close my eyes, bracing myself for the truth.
“I managed to stitch the wounds, but I … I think the scars are there to stay.”
I wouldn’t be doing my job as king if I didn’t remind you what you are.
And there are Saran’s eyes again. Cold.
Soulless.
“But I’m so new at this,” Khani rushes out. “I’m sure a better Healer can take them away.”
I nod, but it doesn’t matter. Even if they wipe away the MAGGOT, the pain will always stay. I rub my wrist, discolored and scaly, indented where the majacite cuffs burned through my skin.
More scars that will never heal.
The tent flaps open again and I turn. I’m not ready to face anyone else. But then I hear it.
“Zél?”
His voice is delicate. Not the voice of my brother. It’s the voice of someone who’s scared, someone who feels ashamed.
As I turn, he shrinks into the corner of the tent. I slip down from the cot. For Tzain, I can swallow my fears. I can hold back every tear.
“Hey,” he calls out.
Stings sear my back as I wrap my arms around Tzain’s chest. He pulls me close and the ache intensifies, but I let him squeeze as hard as he needs to see I’m okay.
“I left.” His voice shrinks. “I got angry and I left the celebration. I wasn’t thinking … I didn’t know—”
I pull back from Tzain and paste a smile on my face. “The wounds looked a lot worse than they were.”
“But your back—”
“It’s fine. After Khani’s done, there won’t even be a scar.”
Tzain glances at Khani; thankfully, she manages to smile back. He searches me, desperate to believe my lie.
“I promised Baba,” he whispers. “I promised Mama—”
“You’ve kept your promise. Every single day. Don’t blame yourself for this, Tzain. I don’t.”
His jaw clenches tight, but he hugs me again and I breathe as his muscles relax under my arms.
“You’re awake.”
It takes me a few seconds to place Amari; rid of her usual braid, her black hair cascades down her back. It swishes from side to side as she enters the tent with the sunstone in hand. The stone bathes her with its glorious light, but nothing inside me stirs.
The sight almost breaks me. What happened?
The last time I held the sunstone, the wrath of Oya lit every cell of my being on fire. I felt like a goddess. Now I hardly feel alive.
Though I don’t want to think about Saran, my mind takes me back to the cellar.
It’s like that bastard cut the magic out of my back.
“How are you feeling?”
Amari’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, amber eyes piercing. I sit on the cot again to buy time.
“I’m okay.”
“Zélie…” Amari tries to meet my gaze, but I look away. She’s not Inan or Tzain. If she pries, I won’t fool her.
The flap opens as Khani exits; the sun begins to set behind the mountains. It dips under a jagged peak, sliding off the orange horizon.
“What day is it?” I interrupt. “How long was I out?”
Amari and Tzain make eye contact. My stomach drops so hard it must lie at my feet. That’s why I can’t feel my magic.…
“We missed the solstice?”
Tzain looks to the ground as Amari chews on her lower lip. Her voice comes out in a whisper. “It’s tomorrow.”
My heart jumps in my throat and I hide my head in my hands. How are we going to get to the island? How am I going to do the ritual? Though I can’t feel the chill of the dead, I whisper the incantation in my mind. “4mí àwọn tí ó ti sùn, mo ké pè yín ní òní—”
—with a lurch the soldier finishes the A. Bile spews from my lips. I scream. I scream. But the pain never ends—
My palms burn and I look down; my fingernails have cut red crescents into my own skin. I unclench my fists and wipe the blood on the cot, praying no one sees.
I try the incantation again, but no spirits rise from the dirt ground. My magic is gone.
And I don’t know how to get it back.
The realization reopens a gaping hole inside of me, a pit I haven’t felt since the Raid. Since the moment I saw Baba crumble in the streets of Ibadan and knew things would never be the same. I think back to my first incantation in the sand dunes of Ibeji, back to the ethereal rush of holding the sunstone and grazing Oya’s hand. The ache that cuts through me is sharper than the blade that cut through my back.
It’s like losing Mama all over again.
Amari sits on the corner of my bed and sets the sunstone down. I wish its golden waves would speak to me once more.
“What do we do?” If we’re this close to the Olasimbo Range, Zaria’s at least a three days’ ride away. Even if I had my magic, we wouldn’t get to Zaria in time, let alone be able to set sail for the sacred islands.
Tzain looks at me like I’ve slapped him in the face. “We run. We find Baba and get the hell out of Orïsha.”
“He’s right.” Amari nods. “I don’t want to retreat, but my father has to know you’re still alive. If we can’t make it to the island, we need to get to safety and regroup. Figure out another way to fight—”
“The hell are you talking about?”
I whip my head around as a boy nearly as big as Tzain charges through the tent flaps. Though it takes me a moment, I remember the white locs of a player who once faced Tzain on the agbön court.
“Kenyon?” I ask.
His eyes flick to me, but there’s no nostalgia in his glare. “Good to see you’ve decided to wake up.”
“Good to see you’re still an ass.”
He glares before turning back to Amari. “You said she was going to bring magic back. Now you’re trying to cut and run?”
“We’re out of time,” Tzain shouts. “It’d take three days to get to Zaria—”
“And only half a day to go through Jimeta!”
“Skies, not this again—”
“People died for this,” Kenyon yells. “For her. Now you want to run away because you’re afraid of the risk?”
Amari glowers with an intensity that could melt stone. “You have no idea what we have risked, so I advise you to keep your mouth shut!”
“You little—”
“He’s right,” I speak up, a new desperation bubbling to the surface. This can’t be it. After everything, I can’t lose my magic again. “We have a night. If we can get to Jimeta, find a boat—” If I can get my magic back … find some way to communicate with the gods …
“Zél, no.” Tzain bends to my eye level, the same way he does with Baba. Because Baba is delicate. Broken. And now so am I. “Jimeta’s too dangerous. We’re more likely to be killed than to find help. You need to rest.”
“She needs to get off her ass.”
Tzain gets in Kenyon’s face so quickly I’m surprised he doesn’t take the tent down with him.
“Stop it.” Amari wedges herself between them. “There’s no time for us to fight. If we cannot get through, we need to get out.”
As they erupt in arguments, I stare at the sunstone, within arm’s reach. If I could touch it … just a graze …
Please, Oya, I lift up the silent prayer, don’t let this be it.
I take a deep breath, preparing for the rush of Sky Mother’s soul, the fire of Oya’s spirit. My fingers brush the smooth stone—
Hope shrivels inside my chest.
Nothing.
Not even a spark.
The sunstone is cool to the touch.
It’s worse than before my awakening, before I ever touched the scroll. It’s like all the magic has bled out of my body, left on that cellar’s floor.
Only a maji tethered to Sky Mother’s spirit can perform the sacred act. Lekan’s words echo back into my mind. Without him, no other maji can be connected to Sky Mother before the ritual.
Without me, there’s no ritual at all.
“Zélie?”
I look up to find everyone staring at me, waiting for the final answer.
It’s over. I should tell them now.
But as I open my mouth to deliver the news, the right words don’t come out. This can’t be it. Not after everything we’ve lost.
Everything they did.
“Let’s go.” The words are weak. By the gods, I wish I could make them sound strong. This has to work. I won’t let this be the end.
Sky Mother chose me. Used me. Took me away from everything I loved. She can’t abandon me like this.
She can’t throw me away with nothing but scars.
“Zél—”
“They cut ‘maggot’ into my back,” I hiss. “We’re going. I don’t care what it takes. I won’t let them win.”