Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(63)

“You heard what happened to Mazeli?” I ask.

“Child, word travels faster in these walls than a cheetanaire in high sprint. I know far more than I want to about all of you.” Mama Agba shakes her head as she turns me toward the mirror. “Apparently Kenyon’s set his sights on Na’imah, but Na’imah set her sights on Dakarai?”

“But Dakarai likes Imani!”

“I know,” Mama Agba sighs. “And that Cancer will eat him alive. It is one giant mess!”

I smile to myself as she reaches for the collar. I hope she hasn’t heard whispers about Inan. Or whispers about Ro?n.

A flutter spreads through my chest at the thought of the mercenary, one I wish I could erase. Without the constant threat of battle, I find myself thinking of his pink smirk. I remember his callused touch. At times, I catch myself staring at the sanctuary’s entrance, waiting for him to saunter back into my life on some half-baked mission.

But even he fades from my mind when Mama Agba places the collar over the golden marks on my throat. As I run my fingers through the thin grooves between each triangular plate, an unexpected swell fills my chest.

It reminds me of sitting in her reed ahéré after I completed my training, sipping tea before she placed the graduation staff in my hands. In a way, this feels exactly the same. Except everything and everyone in our world has changed.

“Zélie, if you were not meant to be an elder, your ascension would have been rejected,” Mama Agba says. “Oya gave you an ìsípayá to mark you as worthy. You wouldn’t have seen anything if she did not think you were the best person to lead this clan.”

I chew on her words, thinking of what Oya showed me. If I close my eyes, I can still see the purple ribbon of light spinning from my chest like a thread, intertwining with a ribbon of gold. The power they created felt just like the one I sensed in Amari.

Back at the temple, I was sure it was a symbol of the cênters. But all of Amari’s threads were only cobalt blue. If I looked at Nehanda’s, I’m sure I’d see only emerald greens. Where were the purples? The golds? The tangerines?

“Mama Agba.” I turn to face her. Even in my head, the question waiting on my lips sounds ridiculous. But I don’t know how to account for the colors of light I haven’t seen. “Is it possible to combine different magic?”

“Well, the very nature of the cênters—”

“Not like that,” I interrupt. “Is it possible to combine different types of magic? The magic of people not in the same clan?”

Mama Agba’s eyes go wide and she steps back, brows creasing in thought. “Why do you ask?”

“In my ìsípayá, I saw different colors. I saw purples mixing with golds. It was a rainbow of color,” I explain. “A rainbow of power.”

“I see.” Mama Agba purses her lips. “Combining the same magic is rare enough, but to mix different magics … to my knowledge, it has only been done once before. It is the very reason Or?sha has majacite at all.”

My mouth falls slack as Mama Agba tells me the tale of the Grounder and Cancer who combined their magic, a connection so powerful and explosive it created majacite deposits throughout the land.

“The two maji were killed on impact,” Mama Agba explains. “But we still feel the effect of their connection today. The deposits they created are what the monarchy have mined for over a century.”

“Could it happen again?” I ask.

“In theory.” Mama Agba shakes her head. “If a connection like that could be sustained, if its wielders could survive, there is no telling what could happen. A Grounder and a Burner could raise volcanoes from the earth. A Reaper and a Healer might even be able to raise the dead.”

I nod, thinking of the potential at hand. A power like that is difficult to comprehend. It feels even mightier than the gods.

“But Zélie, to go that route—”

“I know,” I assure her. “It’s still not the plan.”

A gentle chatter rises from below as the maji leave their dormitories, and Mama Agba and I move to my balcony. I watch as groups traverse the stone bridge to the third mountain, crossing over the natural baths to meet at their clan temples.

Mazeli leads Bimpe and Mári, his large ears easy to spot in the crowd. Mama Agba smiles as we look down on them. She rubs her hand up and down my arm.

“Do you still remember your ìsípayá?” I ask, and Mama Agba exhales. A soft smile settles on her face, so bright it lights the room.

“I peeked into the beyond,” Mama Agba breathes. “I kneeled on the mountaintop. Sky Mother welcomed me with open arms.”

“It sounds beautiful,” I whisper.

“It was.” Mama Agba nods. “It’s been decades, but I can still remember that special warmth. That love.”

Mama Agba straightens my collar and removes my headwrap, shaking out my coils before leading me out the door.

“You are the person your Reapers need, Elder Zélie. The only person you need to prove it to is yourself.”



* * *



BY THE TIME I make my way to the third mountain, most clans are hard at work. With the exception of the Reapers, every other clan has at least a dozen maji who can fight.