Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(74)

“You’re not my brother anymore,” I speak through my teeth. “You’re dead to me.”

Tears stream down my face as I throw his shaking body to the ground. The ashê of other t?táns rumbles within me as I lift my hands.

When the first soldiers attack, my heartbreak strikes them in an endless blue wave.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE


ZéLIE


HOW COULD HE?

I hate myself for even asking the question. Twigs and vines scrape my skin as I sprint back to the sanctuary. My throat burns with hoarse breaths.

I think of the look in Inan’s eyes. The tenderness embedded in his words. He’s gotten so good.

It’s as if he believed his lies himself.

And Amari …

I can’t deal with her betrayal now. Even as I run, the rumbling caravans gain ground. Three dozen soldiers ride in on panthenaires. Though they’re still a kilometer out from the mountain barricading the sanctuary, I can’t let the military get close. If Nehanda’s with them, she’ll bring the entire mountain down. The sanctuary and the Iyika will be buried in the rubble.

“Jagunjagun!” Mazeli calls out to me from the line of Reapers that stand half a kilometer from the sanctuary. As I charge closer, I can see the terror shining through their brown eyes. For their sake, I try to look calm.

“What do we do?” Bimpe asks. “No one from the sanctuary has made it out yet!”

I want to tell them to run, but we can’t just protect ourselves. All the elders are still behind that mountain. Right now, we’re all the Iyika have.

“Mári, summon the elders,” I command. “We need every maji who can fight to mount our defense. Bimpe and Mazeli, stay close.” I point to my Reapers as Mári disappears through the trees. “It’s up to us to fend off the first wave.”

I don’t know where my calm comes from, but I don’t question its source. Mári and Bimpe fall in line as we turn back, facing the scourge of charging soldiers. Dozens of them wear golden armor, the ashê of their different powers blazing around their gauntlets. I see the reds of their Burners; the oranges of their Cancers. I even see t?táns who glow with Reaper lavenders.

“Focus,” I shout when we enter the caravan’s path. “Everyone circle up! Prepare to unleash the shadows of death!”

“Oya, bò w3n,” I pray under my breath. “Protect them.”

My jaw clenches as we spread out along the dirt trail, three Reapers strong. I close my eyes and breathe deep, sensing when my Reapers do the same.

“èmí òkú, gba ààyé nínú mi. Jáde nínú àwon òjìjí re—”

My body warms as the shadows swirl around me, twisting like ribbons of light. Different spirits circle my Reapers when they follow suit, their ashê fusing with mine.

“Yí padà láti owó mi!”

Our shadows bleed together like mixing paints, deep purples turning black with raw power. Our voices rise as the shadows take shape, condensing until they funnel into one giant arrowhead. With the final words of our incantation, we unleash our attack. The arrowhead shoots forward, a rush of wind blowing around us as it twists through the air.

“Look out!” a t?tán shouts. Time seems to slow as the caravan speeds toward us. Sound muffles to a low hum.

The first wagon skids to avoid the attack, sliding off the dirt trail as our shadows swarm. But the soldiers crouched inside don’t stand a chance. The moment they meet our shadows of death, they crumble into ash.

I hear the beginning of screams, but the cries of agony wither into nothing. Our shadows cut through their path, taking out three transports in one blow.

“Zélie, look!” Mazeli points behind us as more maji run into the fight. The sight of them spurs me on. Together, we can defend the sanctuary.

Though my chest heaves up and down, I charge down the warpath.

“Come on!” I shout at my Reapers. “Let’s do it again!”





CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO


INAN


“STOP THE ATTACK!”

Though I shout, my voice is little more than a hoarse whisper. My head spins from Amari’s attack. I can barely stand.

As I stumble through the jungle, the world around me descends into a battlefield. Maji flee from their base in droves as my forces continue their attack.

“Wipe the rebels out!” a lieutenant shouts, sending another line of wagons speeding down the dirt trail.

A burly maji with a metal leg slaps his hands to the ground. Other maji in matching green armor follow his lead.

“Odi àw?n òrì?à—”

Their magic seeps into the earth. Towering walls of dirt shoot into the air, hardening into stone. The wagons try to skid out of the way, but they’re not fast enough. Wood and metal fly as the transports crash and explode.

Skies!

I take cover, bracing myself against a tree. Majacite gas leaks into the air, but a twisting cyclone from the Iyika’s maji blows it all back.

Though my soldiers lead the charge, the maji overpower their every maneuver. This isn’t working.

Whoever mounted this attack is losing.

“Inan!”