Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(37)

“Mazeli Adesanya,” Mama Agba declares. “Elder of the Reaper clan. You are faced with a challenger. Do you want to concede or accept?”

Mazeli puffs out his chest as he walks across the bloodstone. A black silk robe hangs off his shoulders, its dark base accented with Reaper purples.

“I happily concede.” He bows in my direction. “Who else could lead the Reapers than the Soldier of Death herself?”

His call makes hollers erupt throughout the mountain. The shouts should bolster me, but instead sweat gathers along my temples. It feels like the world presses down on my shoulders as I rise. Every footstep I take across the bloodstone stretches into an eternity.

I think of my fantasy of sailing away. I feel the burn of my scars. But as I meet Mama Agba in the center, I can’t deny the hunger in my heart.

“Zélie Adebola.” Mama Agba’s voice thickens with emotion as I kneel before her. Her mahogany eyes sparkle with tears; I have to dig my nails into my palm to keep my own in.

“?é o gba àw?n ènìyàn wònyí gégé bí ara r?? ?é ìw? yóò lo gbogbo agbára r? láti dábòbò wón ni gbogbo ònà?”

Do you accept these people as your own?

Will you use your strength to protect them at all cost?

The burden of her questions expands in my chest as I look to the Reapers gathered around Mazeli. Bimpe watches with fingers pressed to her lips. Mári frantically waves her hand, almost immune to the gravity of the moment. Though I’ve only known them for a few hours, they already feel like blood. Like home. Being around them feels more right than anything has felt in years.

“What do you say?” Mama Agba asks.

I square my shoulders and nod. For the first time since the Raid, I see our potential. The beauty in what we could become.

“Mo gbà. Mà á se é.” My throat tightens with the weight of my vow. “I will protect these Reapers with everything I have.”

Mama Agba wipes the single tear that falls from her eye before dipping her thumb into a canister of glittering purple pigment. She paints a crescent along my forehead and a sharp line along my jaw. The entire mountain is silent as she finishes her blessing with an intricate design over my left eye. I keep still as she surrounds my feet with offerings of cinnamon and sweetgrass.

“I know your parents are proud.” She kisses my forehead. “As am I.”

I smile, thinking of what they would say if they were here now. Mama would’ve become the youngest Reaper elder in history. Now that honor falls to me.

“Your hand, my child.”

I extend my palm and she pulls out a black dagger.

“Let your vow be recorded in blood,” she declares. “Before your people. Before your gods!”

Mama Agba makes a clean cut across my palm and slams my hand into the center of the circle. I lurch forward as the stone lights up. Magic heats the air around me as more than blood is pulled from my form.

Gasps echo throughout the crowd as my hand bonds to the stone surface. The purple light spreads like the threads of a giant spiderweb. Embers crackle around my head. Veins bulge against my skin.

With a flash, the light beneath me explodes in clouds of purple smoke. The fog is so thick that even Mama Agba disappears. The smoke swallows all sound.

The rest of the mountain fades away as my vision blacks out. My tattoos hum against my neck.

Then Oya lights up the dark.

My gods …

No matter how many times I witness her power, it always steals the air from my throat. I can’t breathe as Oya swirls before me, larger than life itself. Her skirts spin in a brilliant hurricane of red. A deep purple light glows around her obsidian skin. A teardrop of ashê breaks from her hand, glowing brighter as it falls through the blackness.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I prepare for her gift, the sacred wisdom only an ìsípayá can give. It was a Tamer’s ìsípayá that led to the massive ryders we use today. A Reaper’s ìsípayá that gave birth to the first animations. The same hunger I had as a child consumes me now as I open my hands, waiting for mine.

The teardrop of ashê floats into my palms and my eyes light with its purple glow. My skin heats as the ìsípayá takes hold.

It starts with a purple ribbon of light, spinning from my chest like a thread. A ribbon of gold appears next, twisting out of the blackness. Tangerines and emeralds join the fold, each light weaving themselves together. They intertwine like the roots of a mammoth tree, creating a power so great it roars like a lionaire.

Questions fill my mind as I extend my hand, reaching out to touch the spinning rainbow of magic. But as my fingers approach its searing heat, the ribbons of light disappear.

I snap back into the present.

“Ugh!” I wheeze, pitching forward onto my knees. I hold up my shaking palm, but any sign of Mama Agba’s cut is gone.

When the smoke clears, Mama Agba extends her hand. Pride shines through her brown eyes as she helps me to my feet.

The rainbow of my ìsípayá fills my mind as Mama Agba turns me to face the crowd. When she raises up my arm, my heart sings as the entire mountain roars.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


INAN