AFTER HOURS OF TRAVELING through the forest surrounding the Olasimbo Range, Jimeta makes its way onto the horizon. Sharp and jagged like its rumored inhabitants, its sand cliffs and rocky bluffs jut out over the Lokoja Sea. Waves crash against the base of its cliffs, creating a familiar song I know all too well. Though the crashing waves pound and rumble like thunder, just being near the water again sets me at ease.
“Remember when you wanted to live here?” Tzain whispers to me, and I nod, a half smile rising to my lips. It’s nice to feel something else, to think of something besides all the ways our plans could fail.
After the Raid, I insisted we go to Jimeta. I thought its lawless borders were the only place we’d be safe. Though I’d heard stories of the mercenaries and criminals who filled its streets, in my young eyes that danger paled in comparison to the joy of living in a city without guards. At least the people trying to kill us here wouldn’t wear the Orïshan seal.
As we pass by the small homes nestled within the towering cliffs, I wonder how different our lives would’ve been. Wooden doors and window frames stick out of the rock, protruding as if they were grown inside the stone. Bathed in the moonlight, the criminal city almost appears peaceful. I might even think it beautiful if not for the mercenaries lurking at every corner.
I keep my face hard as we pass a group of masked men, wondering where their specialties lie. From what I’ve heard of Jimeta, anyone we pass could run the gamut from common thievery to assassination requests. Rumor has it the only true way to get out of the stocks is to hire a mercenary to break you free; they’re the only ones strong and sneaky enough to defy the army and live.
Nailah growls as we pass another band of masked men, a mix of kosidán and divîners, men and women, Orïshans and foreigners. Their eyes comb over her mane, likely calculating her cost. I snarl as a man dares to step forward.
Try me, I threaten him with my eyes. I pity the poor soul who tries to mess with me tonight.
“Is this it?” I ask Kenyon when we stop before a large cave at the base of the cliffs. Its mouth is shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to peer inside.
He nods. “They call him the silver-eyed foxer. I heard he took out Gombe’s general with his bare hands.”
“And he’s got a boat?”
“The fastest. Wind-powered, last I heard.”
“Alright.” I grasp Nailah’s reins. “Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Kenyon puts a hand out, stopping us before we take another step. “You can’t just enter a clan’s dwelling with a crew of your own. Only one of us can go.”
We all hesitate for a moment. Dammit. I’m not ready for this.
Tzain reaches for his ax. “I’ll go.”
“Why?” Kenyon asks. “This whole plan revolves around Zélie. If anyone goes, it should be her.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not sending her in there alone.”
“It’s not like she’s defenseless,” Kenyon scoffs. “With her magic she’s more powerful than any of us.”
“He’s right.” Amari places her hand on Tzain’s arm. “They might be more likely to help if they see her magic at work.”
This is where I agree. Where I tell them I’m not scared. Convincing these fighters should be easy. My magic should be stronger than ever.
My stomach churns with the truth, guilt gnawing away at me. It would all feel so much better if just one person knew we’re not relying on me at all.
Whether or not we get magic back is completely up to the gods.
“No.” Tzain shakes his head. “It’s too much of a risk.”
“I can do it.” I hand Tzain Nailah’s reins. This has to work. Whatever’s going on, it has to be Sky Mother’s plan.
“Zél—”
“He’s right. I have the best chance of convincing them.”
Tzain steps forward. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.”
“Tzain, we need their fighters. We need their boat. And we have nothing to offer in return. If we want to get to the temple, it’s best not to start the conversation with breaking their rules.” I hand Amari my pack with the three sacred artifacts, keeping only my staff. I run my fingers along the etchings and force a deep breath into my chest.
“Don’t worry.” I send a silent prayer up to Oya with my thoughts. “If I need help, you’ll hear me scream.”
I walk through the mouth of the cave. The air hangs wet and cold. I move to the nearest wall and slide my hands along the slick ridges, using the stone as a guide. Each step is slow and tentative, but it feels good to move, good to do something besides reread that damn scroll with a ritual I might not be able to do.
As I travel, giant blue crystals drip from the ceiling like icicles, hanging so low they almost brush the cave floor. They provide a faint light, illuminating the two-tailed batters gathered around their glowing cores. The batters seem to watch me as I move through the cave. Their chorus of squeaks is the only sound I hear until it’s drowned beneath the chatter of men and women gathered around a fire.
I pause, taking in their surprisingly vast domain. The ground beneath them dips into a depression, coated with a light moss that the mercenaries fashion into cushions. Rays of light peek through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating hand-carved steps that travel farther down the cliff.
I take a few more steps forward and a hush falls over the crowd.
Gods, help me.
I make my way through their gathering. Dozens of masked mercenaries clad in black leer at me as I pass, each sitting on a rock structure that juts out of the ground. Some reach for their weapons, some shift into a fighting stance. Half stare like they want to kill, others like they want to devour.
I ignore their hostility as I search for gray eyes amid a sea of ambers and browns. The man they belong to emerges from the front of the cavern, the only unmasked mercenary in sight. Though he’s covered in black like the rest of the fighters, a dark red scarf wraps around his throat.
“You?” I breathe out in confusion. I can’t hide my shock. The sandstone complexion, the striking, storm-gray eyes. The pickpocket … the thief from the divîner settlement. Though only a short time has passed, it feels like a lifetime ago now.
Roën takes a long drag off a hand-rolled cigarette as his angular eyes slide up my form. He sits down, resting against a circular rock structure reminiscent of a throne. His foxer-like smile spreads wide against his lips.
“I told you we’d meet again.” He takes another drag off his cigarette and is slow to exhale. “But unfortunately, these aren’t the right circumstances. Not unless you’re here to join me and my men.”
“Your men?” Roën looks only a few years older than Tzain. Though he has a fighter’s build, the men he commands are twice his size.
“You find that amusing?” A crooked grin rises to his thin lips, and he leans forward on his stone throne. “Do you know what amuses me? A little maji. Stumbling into my cave unarmed.”
“Who says I’m unarmed?”
“You don’t look like you know your way around a sword. Of course, if that’s what you’re here to learn, I’d be more than happy to teach.”
His crudeness elicits laughter from his crew, and my cheeks grow hot. I’m a game to him. Another mark he can pickpocket with ease.
I survey the cave, taking stock of his mercenaries. If this is going to work, I need his respect.
“How kind.” I keep my face even. “But it’s me who’s here to teach you.”
Roën lets out a hearty laugh that bounces along the cave walls. “Go on.”
“I need you and your men for a job that could change Orïsha.”
Again the men jeer, but this time the pickpocket doesn’t laugh. He leans farther out of his seat.
“There’s a sacred island north of Jimeta,” I continue, “a full night’s sail away. I need you to take us there before tomorrow’s sun rises.”
He leans back against his stone throne. “The only island in the Lokoja Sea is Kaduna.”
“This island only appears every hundred years.”
More taunts erupt, but Roën silences them with a sharp hand.
“What’s on this island, mysterious little maji?”
“A way to bring magic back for good. For every maji in Orïsha’s lands.”
The mercenaries explode in laughter and taunts, yelling at me to go away. A stocky man steps out of the fray. His muscles bulge beneath his black fatigues. “Stop wasting our time with these lies,” he growls. “Roën, get this girl out of here or I wi—”
He lays his hand on my back; his touch sends spasms through my wounds. The pain takes me away, locking me inside the cell—
—rusted cuffs rip against my wrists as I pull. My screams echo against the metal walls.
And during it all, Saran stands calm, watching them tear me apart—
“Agh!”
I throw the man over my shoulder, slapping him against the rock floor with a loud smack. As he recoils, I ram my staff into his sternum, letting up just before I hear anything crack. His screams are loud, but not louder than the ones still ringing in my head.
The cave seems to hold its breath as I bend down, placing the end of my staff above the mercenary’s throat.
“Touch me again.” I bare my teeth. “See what happens.”
He flinches as I release my hold, giving him the chance to crawl away. With his retreat there’s no more laughter.
They understand my staff.
Roën’s stormy eyes dance, filled with even more amusement than before. He puts out his cigarette and walks forward, stopping only a finger’s breadth away from my face. The scent of his smoke engulfs me, sweet like milk and honey.
“You’re not the first to attempt this, love. Kwame already tried to bring magic back. From what I hear, it didn’t go so well.”
Kwame’s name sends a pang through my heart, reminding me of the meeting he took with Roën in the divîner camp. Even back then, he must have been preparing. Deep down, he always knew we’d have to fight.
“This is different. I have a way to give all the maji back their gifts at once.”
“What kind of payment are we talking?”
“No coin,” I say. “But you’ll earn the favor of the gods.”
“How do you figure?” he snorts. “Just general goodwill?”
He needs more. I rack my mind, searching for a better lie. “The gods sent me to you. Twice. It’s no accident we’re meeting again. They’ve chosen you because they want your help.”
The crooked smile drops off his face and he’s solemn for the first time. I can’t read the expression behind his eyes when it’s not amusement or mischief.
“That may be enough for me, love, but my men are going to need a little more than divine intervention.”
“Then let them know that if we succeed, you’ll be employed by the future queen of Orïsha.” The words tumble out of me before I can even assess whether or not they’re true. Tzain told me of Amari’s intention to claim the throne, but with everything going on, I haven’t thought of it since.
Yet now I hold on to it, using my only leverage. If Roën and his men don’t help us, we won’t get anywhere near that island.
“The queen’s mercenaries,” he muses. “It has a ring to it, no?”
“It does.” I nod. “One that sounds a lot like gold.”
A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. His gaze slides over me once more.
Finally, he holds out his hand and I hide a smile, keeping my grip firm as we shake.
“When do we leave?” I ask. “We have to hit the island by daybreak.”
“Right now.” Roën smiles. “But our boat’s small. You’ll have to sit next to me.”