MY THROAT DRIES as I watch an endless sea of soldiers patrol the perimeter of the island. It’s like every soldier in Orïsha has come to stand guard.
Behind them a forest of blackened trees rises, shrouded in mist and twisting smoke. The energy surrounding the forest bends the air above it, a sign of the spiritual power hiding within its trees.
When the last of our disguised troop makes it off the rowboat, Roën leads us toward the temple. “Look alive,” he says. “We need to move.”
The moment we set foot on the eastern shoreline, I instantly feel the spiritual energy at work. Even without the hum of magic in my bones, it radiates from the ground, flows from the burnt trees. As Roën’s eyes widen, I know he realizes it, too.
We walk among the gods.
A strange thrum fills me at the thought, not quite the rush of magic, but the surge of something greater. Walking through the island, I can almost feel Oya’s breath in the way the air chills around us. If they’re here, with me, then maybe I was right to trust them. Maybe we actually have a shot.
But to do that, we have to get past the guards.
My heart slams against my chest as we pass through the endless rows of patrolling soldiers. With each step I’m convinced they can see through our helmets, but wearing the seal of Orïsha shields us from their gaze. Roën leads with a convincing strut, wearing the commander’s armor with ease. With his sandstone skin and confident gait, even real commanding officers step out of his way.
Almost there, I think, stiffening when a soldier eyes us a moment too long. Each step toward the forest stretches into a breathless eternity. Tzain carries the bone dagger, while Amari’s grip tightens on the leather bag she uses to hide the sunstone and scroll; I keep my hand readied on my staff. But even when we pass the last of the perimeter troops, the soldiers barely spare us a glance. They keep their focus on the sea, waiting for a maji army that will never come.
“My gods,” I breathe to myself when we make it past the soldiers’ earshot. My fragile calm explodes into nerves. I force air into my lungs.
“We made it.” Amari grips my arm, skin paling beneath her helmet. Our first battle is over.
Now another one begins.
A cold fog rolls in as we travel into the forest, mist licking the trees. By the time we’ve journeyed a few kilometers, the fog is so thick it blocks out the sun and makes it hard to see.
“Strange,” Amari whispers into my ear, arms outstretched to avoid hitting a tree. “Do you think it is always like this?”
“I don’t know.” Something tells me the fog is a gift from the gods.
They’re on our side.…
They want us to win.
I cling to the words of my speech, praying that they’re true. The gods wouldn’t abandon us now; they wouldn’t fail me here. But as we near the temple, no warmth pulses through my veins. There’ll be no hiding in the fog soon.
I’ll be exposed for the world to see.
“How’d you know?” I whisper as the temple looms through the fog, thinking back to that fateful day in the market. “In Lagos, why’d you come to me?”
Amari turns, amber gaze bright through the white fog. “Because of Binta,” she answers softly. “She had silver eyes. Just like yours.”
With her words, something clicks—a sign of the greater hand. We’ve been led to this moment, pushed in the tiniest, most obscure ways. No matter how this day ends, we’re doing what the gods intend. But what could be their purpose when no magic flows from my veins?
I open my mouth to respond but stop when the spiritual energy thickens. It weighs us down like gravity, pushing against every step.
“Do you feel that?” Tzain whispers.
“It’s impossible not to.”
“What’s going on?” Roën calls back.
“It can only be—”
The temple …
No words can describe the sheer magnificence of the pyramid before us. It towers into the sky, each section carved from translucent gold. Like Chândomblé, intricate sênbaría decree the will of the gods. The symbols shine in the absence of light, but now that we’re here, the real battle begins.
“Rehema,” Roën orders. “Take your team to the edge of the southern shoreline. Raise hell on the beach and disappear into the fog. Follow Asha’s lead to get away.”
Rehema nods, pulling up her helmet until we can only see her light brown eyes. She bumps Roën’s fist before leading two men and two women into the fog.
“What do we do?” I ask.
“We wait,” Roën answers. “They should divert the army’s attention, freeing up the temple.”
Minutes stretch into hours, an eternity that drags like death. Each second that passes is another second my mind tumbles in guilt. What if they’re captured? What if they die? I can’t have any more people perish for this.
I can’t have more blood stain my hands.
A black plume rises in the distance. Rehema’s distraction. It pushes through the fog, reaching high into the sky. Within seconds, a sharp horn pierces through the air.
Guards stream out of the temple, taking off toward the southern shoreline. So many men race out that I quickly realize I can’t fathom the temple’s true size.
When the first flood of soldiers passes, Roën leads us in, pushing against the heavy air. We ascend the golden steps as fast as we can, not pausing until we reach the ground floor and enter the temple.
Vibrant jewels decorate every inch of the walls, exquisite in their design. Around us, Yemọja’s breathtaking image dots the golden walls in topaz and blue sapphire; waves of shimmering diamonds flow from each fingertip in light. Above us, the bright emeralds of Ògún glow, paying homage to his power over the earth. Through the crystal ceilings, I glimpse each plane—all ten floors dedicated to the gods.
“You guys…” Amari nears a stairwell in the center of the floor traveling underground, and the sunstone glows in her hand.
This is it.… I clench my clammy fists.
This is where we’re supposed to go.
“You ready?” Amari asks.
No. It’s written all over my face. But with her nudge, I take the first step, leading us down the cold stairwell.
Traveling through the narrow space, I’m pulled back to our time in Chândomblé. Like that temple, torchlight illuminates the tapered path, glowing against the stone walls. It brings me back to when we still had a chance.
Back to when I still had magic.
I touch my hand to the walls, sending a silent prayer to the gods. Please … if you can help me, I need it now. I bide my time as we descend farther and farther; sweat drips down my back though the air cools to a chill. Please, Sky Mother, I pray again. If you can fix this, fix it now.
I wait for a glimpse of her silver eyes, for her electric touch through my bones. But as I begin to pray again, the magnificence of the ritual ground silences all words.
Eleven golden statues line the hallowed dome, each towering into the sky. They rise above us with devastating height, looming like the mountains of the Olasimbo Range. In the precious metal, the gods and goddesses are carved with exquisite detail; from the wrinkles in Sky Mother’s skin to the individual coils of her hair, no line or curve is spared.
Each deity’s gaze focuses on the ten-pointed star of stone gleaming below. Every point is marked by a sharp stone pillar, sênbaría carvings etched into all four of its sides.
In the center, a single gold column is raised. Atop it, a circle is carved out. Round and smooth—the exact shape of the sunstone.
“My gods,” Kenyon breathes as we step into the stale air.
“My gods” is right.
It’s like walking into the heavens.
With each stride, I feel mighty under the gods’ watch, protected under their ethereal gaze.
“You can do this.” Amari hands me the parchment and the sunstone. She takes the bone dagger from Tzain and slips it into the waist of my uniform.
I nod and take the two sacred objects. You can do this, I repeat. Just try.
I step forward, prepared to bring this journey to an end. But then a figure moves in the distance.
“Ambush!” I cry out.
I flick open my staff as hidden men emerge. They move like shadows, crawling out from behind every statue, every pillar. In the frenzy we all bare our blades, eyes darting to find the next attack. But when the blurs settle, I see Saran, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. Then I see Inan, face pained, majacite blade in his hand.
The sight rips straight through me; a betrayal colder than ice. He promised.
He swore he wouldn’t get in my way.
But before I can truly break, I see the worst of it. A sight so alarming, it doesn’t even seem real.
My heart stops as they bring him forward.
“Baba?”