Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(26)

“Don’t worry.” His lips graze my ear as he speaks. “Something tells me our paths will cross again.”



* * *



THE MAJI LEAD us off the main jungle trail, walking along a gushing river. The flowing water cuts the rain forest in half, dividing the dense greens. Beneath us, the hilly terrain slopes up and down as the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers grow. Mammoth trees fill our path, creating rich emerald canopies above.

I keep my hand wrapped tight around Mama Agba’s as we dip under raised tree roots. Tzain, Amari, and I stay close, listening intently as she explains the Iyika’s origins to us.

“I still don’t understand,” Tzain says. “You founded the rebellion?”

“In a way.” Mama Agba nods. “But it started as a defense. Your father and I were halfway to Oron when I had a vision of the three of you at the div?ner settlement. We didn’t arrive in time to stop the monarchy’s attack, but we were able to find the survivors.” Mama Agba leans on me as we step over a fallen log. “The two of us were leading them here when more soldiers attacked.”

Her voice trails and I think back to the deaths of Zulaikha and Salim. Tzain and I exchange a glance as the pieces fall into place. This is the reason Baba ended up in Inan’s grasp. The reason Baba died.

“I promise, we fought with everything we had,” Mama Agba sighs. “But your father didn’t want us to get hurt. He offered himself up to the guards and they agreed to spare our lives.”

The flames of Baba’s casket burn in my mind as she speaks. Though we pass sunset blossoms, the stench of ash fills my nose.

“I am so sorry.” Mama Agba shakes her head. “More than you could ever know.”

“Don’t be.” I squeeze her hand. “It’s not your fault.”

The memory of Inan walking Baba to his death reminds me why I’m here. With the Iyika’s help, we can take Inan and Nehanda down. I can wrap my hands around his throat.

“After the camp fell, we realized that we had an opening.” Mazeli picks up in Mama Agba’s silence. “No one else knew that magic was coming back. We used that knowledge to plan an attack.”

“The night of the centennial solstice, we banded with other maji and crowded Lagos’s borders,” a petite maji jumps in. “The moment our gifts returned, we stormed the city. The monarchy didn’t know what hit them.”

Amari’s face falls, but I can’t keep the wonder from my eyes. I can’t believe they trusted me to bring magic back; that my sacrifice actually allowed my people to fight.

“What was it like?” I ask.

“Brilliant,” Mazeli whispers. “We would’ve taken the palace if it wasn’t for Nehanda. But now that you’re here, we’ll break through their defenses. With the Soldier of Death, this war is ours!”

His words ignite a cheer among the maji that continues as we come face-to-face with a staggering cliff. A tall Grounder steps forward when we approach.

“Elder Kamarū,” Mama Agba gestures, introducing all of us. A silver nose ring glints against the Grounder’s dark skin. His thick white hair stands straight up in small free-form locs. One of his legs is sculpted from iron, attached halfway down his right thigh. I step back as he passes, but he stops to bow, iron knee touching the ground.

“The stories don’t do you justice,” he says, making my cheeks flush. Mazeli steps between us.

“Kamarū, I don’t care if you’re twice my size. Back off.”

The Grounder smiles as he retreats, his nose ring glinting as he takes position. Kamarū places his large palms against the mountainside, pressing hard into the rock.

“Remember to breathe.” Mama Agba nods, a familiar tone of instruction in her voice. He closes his eyes and releases a deep breath. Then he begins to chant.

“Se ìfé inú mi—”

I don’t move as the incantation rings. It’s been years since I’ve heard the steady rhythms that mark all Grounder incantations.

An emerald glow surrounds Kamarū’s feet, traveling up to his hands. Sharp cracks ring as his fingers dig into the sturdy rock like hands digging through sand.

“Widen your stance,” Mama Agba calls, and Kamarū squares his legs. The plants covering the mountainside fall away as the thick tapestry unweaves vine by vine.

Kamarū steps back as pebbles and dust fall. With a groan, the mountain stone slides apart like a collection of tiles. I hold my breath as sunlight spills into the new, narrow opening, revealing the entrance of a never-ending stairwell. Hope flickers like an ember in my chest.

The Iyika are far more powerful than we realized.

“Excellent work.” Mama Agba pats him on the back. Her brown eyes shine with excitement, one I haven’t seen from her in years. She steps away, gesturing for us to enter first.

“Go on.” She pushes me onto the first stair. “Welcome to the rebellion.”





CHAPTER TWENTY


AMARI


“WHAT IN THE SKIES…”

My mouth falls open as we exit the long tunnel. Three mountains stand in a triangle, their tops flattened into wide plateaus. They rise so high into the sky it looks like we float above a blanket of clouds. Each mountain holds an assortment of stunning temples and towers crafted from gleaming black stone.