Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(103)

“Ara m’ókun, emí mí—”

The corpse glows as we summon the magic of healing and the magic of life. The man’s wrinkled skin smooths itself again. His rigid limbs soften.

Clouds of orange expel from his mouth and blackened skin, floating into the air. His very body seems to vibrate under our touch, glowing with golden light—

“Ugh!” The man shoots forward, wheezing as he grabs his chest.

“Baba!” the girl cries out. She tackles him to the ground before he can rise.

Every gaze falls to us as Khani and I lock eyes.

With this kind of magic, we can raise the dead.

We can get our people back.





CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE


ZéLIE


EVERY TIME WE lay our hands on another shriveled chest, I wait for our magic to fail. But one after another, each corpse awakens, rising from the dead. I feel the most sacred gift of Oya beneath my hands, the holy magic of life and death. When the last body breathes again, I stare at the glowing tattoos on my hands.

No Reaper or Healer in history has ever been able to do that.

In our magic, I see the answer. What Oya wanted me to understand all along. If we use the moonstone to bind our lifeforces, we can save the maji from the monarchy’s grasp.

We can still win this war.

I rise from the ground, marching toward the well.

“That’s her,” a young boy whispers. “Jagunjagun Ikú.”

For the first time, the title feels right. When I climb onto the well’s edge, everyone stares as if I were Oya herself. The sun’s rays dance like fire along my skin as I look at the crowd.

“I’m sorry.” I meet every elder’s eyes. “You all needed me before and I was too broken to show up.”

“We’re sorry.” Na’imah steps forward, mountain winds blowing her curls. “You told us to leave Or?sha behind. If we had listened, our people would be alright.”

Mutters of agreement follow in her wake, but I shake my head.

“We’re the children of the gods.” I lift my chin. “If someone’s running away, it’s not going to be us.”

I think of all the pain our rulers have caused. The bodies they’ve sacrificed. Magic has never been the kingdom’s problem.

The monarchy has.

“Eleven years ago, I stood in this very spot when Saran’s Raid destroyed Ibadan. I lost my mother and my home. We lost our magic!” I lift my hands. “Today, Saran is dead. Our birthright runs through our veins. But in mere moons, the monarchs have brought nothing but death and destruction to our streets again!”

“Mowà p?lu olú ?ba!” a villager yells, raising his tanned fist. His cry rings through my ears: Down with the monarchy.

“They’ve taken our magic. Our homes. Those we love most. No more!” I swipe my hand across my chest. “They are Or?sha’s past. We are Or?sha’s future!”

Cheers spread among the elders, a flame I cradle in my hands. I don’t want their fire to die. I want to ignite a blaze.

“Mowà p?lu olú ?ba!” I shout, and this time the chant spreads, echoing through the village crowd.

“There will be no mercy. No peace. No terms of surrender. We will connect our lifeforces and wield the power of the gods! We will march to Lagos and tear down its walls!” I remove my staff and raise it above my head, extending its blades. “We will rescue our people and make sure no monarch ever touches this land again!”

“Mowà p?lu olú ?ba!” This time their chant escapes in a deafening cry. It makes me feel alive.

“Mowà p?lu olú ?ba! Mowà p?lu olú ?ba!”

My heart swells as the villagers join in, but a cold realization sets in as I stare at the elders. Connecting with Ro?n almost took me down. Connecting to Tzain, Khani, and Kamarū almost killed us all. Even as we stand together now, the pressure grows in my chest as our connection eats through us.

My throat dries as I remember what Mama Agba told us in the council room when she explained the great cost of making our own cênters. If we’re going to join together, we need more than the moonstone’s magic.

I need to sacrifice someone I love.





CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO


ZéLIE


THE PROMISES OF MY SPEECH swell within me as I walk the mountain paths along the outskirts of Ibadan’s village center. As the rows of pyramid ahérés end behind me, I think of every maji who’s dedicated themselves to this fight. The life we’ll need to sacrifice.

I can’t give up Tzain and I can’t give up Ro?n. There’s only one other person I love, despite the way she has betrayed us.

Dread weighs down my legs, slowing my journey to Amari’s cell. I don’t know what to say to her. How I could ever forgive what she did.

Even though everyone she killed breathes again, she sacrificed them. She sacrificed me. She didn’t care who she hurt as long as she got to sit on her throne—

“What do you mean it’s over?”

My steps falter; I press my back against the side of a mountain before I turn the corner. The deep voice grates against my ears. I didn’t expect to hear it again.

Harun? I crouch down, peeking around the ledge. The stocky mercenary stands with five other members of Ro?n’s crew, all clad in black.