Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(64)

The maji gather in front of their clan temples, training while div?ners watch. As I pass them on my way to the Reaper tower at the top of the mountain, the little confidence Mama Agba instilled in me begins to melt.

“Not like that,” Na’imah instructs, shaking her head so hard that a shower of orange flower petals fall from her curls. Dragonflies orbit her head as she repositions a maji’s hands around her cheetanaire’s temples. “Feel the connection before you begin the incantation.”

The Tamer nods and closes his eyes, face stern with concentration. Small monkeys skitter across his back as he chants, some hanging from his neck and ears.

“èdá inú egàn, yá mi ní ojú r?—”

A soft pink light ignites behind the Tamer’s eyelids, growing in strength. When he opens his eyes, the cheetanaire does as well. The same pink light fills the ryder’s thin irises.

The Tamer’s mouth hangs open as he gazes at the world through the cheetanaire’s eyes. It’s like their heads are controlled by the same source. The two even blink in unison.

On the ledge above them, Folake leads a demonstration for the Lighters, her long white locs tied back. She stretches out her slender fingers, gathering something I can’t see.

“The trick is to feel the light like something you can hold in the palms of your hands. Once you can feel it, the incantation is easy. ìbòrí òkùnkùn!”

Folake claps her hands together and in the blink of an eye, darkness descends over the Lighter Temple. She summons a blackness deeper than any I’ve ever experienced, like all the stars were plucked from a moonless night.

The blackout lasts only an instant, but when light reappears, every maji’s eyes are open wide.

That was amazing, I shake my head. I hope I can be half as good.

“Reapers ready!” Mazeli’s high-pitched voice travels beyond the engraved stone of the Reaper Temple. He stands before our clan in the grassy terrain out back, making Bimpe and Mári chant in harmony.

“?mí àw?n tí ó ti sùn—”

“?mí àw?n tí ó ti sùn!”

“Mo ké pè yin ní òní—”

“Mo ké pè yin ní òní!”

My chest flutters with awe as my Reapers conjure animations in unison. Though each spirit holds a unique shape, the animations rise as one, blooming from the grass like a garden of calla lilies.

“Hold them steady,” Mazeli calls. “Maintain size!”

Mári’s animation falls apart while Bimpe’s grows large, but the way they work together reminds me of the Reapers I knew before the Raid.

“Jagunjagun!” Mazeli’s face lights when he spots me leaning against the temple. He drops to both knees, bowing as if I were the queen.

“What are we going to learn today?” he asks. “Soul ripping? Spirit tethers? What about—ow!” Mazeli cries out when Mári punches his arm.

“Shut your mouth and let her answer!” she hisses.

“Mári, I’m your Second! You can’t hit me here!”

Bimpe giggles and I smile, remembering the laughter that would echo in Mama Agba’s ahéré. Though real problems awaited us outside her woven reed walls, she still allowed us to have fun.

Listening to my Reapers now, I realize that this training doesn’t have to be about the war. For once, we can celebrate our magic by practicing the incantations that have been passed on through generations. We can bask in the Reapers’ return.

“Today we’re going to learn an ancient and powerful technique.” I hand Mazeli the scroll I’ve selected.

“òjìjí ikú?” Mazeli’s brows rise as he reads. “Shadows of death?”

“You can already conjure animations.” I nod. “This technique will allow you to strengthen that skill while building another.”

I step forward and cast in my head, bringing an animation to life with just a wave of my hand. As the spirit rises from the dirt, I remember training alone in the desert, trying to create an animation for the first time. A few moons ago I couldn’t even move one grain of sand.

“Creating shadows is just like creating animations. But instead of channeling a spirit into the nearest element, you wield it in its raw form. The shadows can take any shape, but the more complicated the vessel, the harder it is to mold.”

“Stories say your shadows are powerful enough to turn entire armies to ash.” Mári’s words make every Reaper light up, but the memory of wielding Baba’s spirit makes a pit open up in my chest. When he tore through my blood, the shadows that exploded from my skin were more than powerful. They were death incarnate.

“What I did at the ritual was fueled by the connection I had with my father,” I explain. “My magic was amplified from the sacred grounds and centennial solstice. It’d be difficult to wield that kind of strength again.”

“Can you try?” Mazeli asks, a request the others echo. They all stare at me with hungry eyes. I know they’ll need a demonstration.

I brace myself for the memories of Baba that’ll hit with this incantation, but as I prepare to chant, the sun finally rises over our temple. As the rays and shadows move over the mountaintop, I’m reminded of the last time Mama used this incantation. It was years ago, back when I still lived in Ibadan.