Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(99)

The well!

I hone in on the circle of granite rock as the idea takes hold. Baba used to walk me there every morning, letting my legs dangle over his strong shoulders.

As more villagers spill into the streets, I know it’s our only shot. We have to get inside. Barricade ourselves and pray to our gods.

“The well!” I scream as the last shadow lowers me to the ground. “Get in the well!”

Feet thunder as the villagers follow my command. I drag Ro?n over the edge and hand his body off to those who’ve already climbed down.

“Come on!” I wave my hands as more people climb into the shelter. Hysteria transforms to honor as people push their spouses and children to the front. The wall of gas swirls like a storm, an endless orange cloud closing in from every direction.

There’s not enough time.

No matter what I do, they won’t all make it.

“Wait!”

The desperate plea rises above every other cry. I turn to find a woman with tears in her eyes. She pushes out her arms, frantic to save the baby in her hands.

The gas is only seconds away. The woman cries out as it hits the back of her head. Blood shoots from her mouth on impact. Her skin shrivels as it turns black.

I see the moment she realizes that she won’t make it. The baby falls from her hands.

“èmí òkú, gba ààyé nínú mi—”

It’s the fastest I’ve ever seen a spirit transform. The mother’s corpse doesn’t even hit the ground before the incantation allows her soul to course through me, granting me new shadows, new arms. They reach out, catching the baby before it can hit the ground.

The shadows retract as I pull the infant to my chest before the spirits transform.

They block off the top of the well as the gas howls overhead.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX


AMARI


I REMEMBER THE morning after the Raid as if it were yesterday.

You would think the sun wouldn’t have risen, or the moon would’ve gone dark, but everything started exactly the same.

I awoke with a start, six years old and searching for the pleated lines of Binta’s bonnet. My dreams had gifted me an adventure on the seas. I had to tell her everything.

“Binta, where are you?” My voice echoed against the gold decor and pastel pinks of my quarters. But when the door swung open, a tall handmaiden entered, a kosidán with thin lips and a sharp chin.

I sat with balled fists as she scrubbed my skin too hard. Pulled my hair too tight. Whenever I dared to ask where Binta had gone, the handmaiden pinched my arm. I broke free of her grip the first chance I got.

“Father!” I slid across the marble floors as I ran. I thought the handmaiden shrieked after me with rage. Perhaps it was actually terror.

I burst through the oak doors of the throne room, ready to make my case. But Father was still.

So unnaturally still.

“Father?” I stepped back into the hall. He always watched the sun rise over Lagos, but that day the very air held its breath around him.

In that stillness I knew something had changed. We would never return to a kinder time again.

All these years, I’ve wondered how he must have felt.

Today I feel it myself.

“No!”

Tzain thrashes like a wild animal, desperate to break my mental hold. I can’t stomach the way he writhes. The tears and snot that drip past his nose.

“How could you!” His screams are like shattered glass echoing in our silence. “How could you?”

The toxic Cancer clouds begin to dissipate. Not even a single breeze moves between Ibadan’s mountains.

I try to ignore the hollow pit in my chest. I won the war.

But at what cost?

Strike, Amari.

The world spins around me though my feet stay rooted in place. There’s no going back from this. This is a strike Tzain and the elders won’t forgive.

But I cannot allow that weight to break me now. We have our victory.

It’s up to me to declare it.

“Let’s go.” I march to my cheetanaire, mounting its leather saddle. This is the moment that will spread throughout the lands. The story that shall birth Or?sha’s future.

A new kingdom will rise from these ashes. A kingdom worthy of these sacrifices. But no elders follow my lead. They all stand still in shock. Shock I don’t have the luxury to feel.

They’ll understand in time.

Right now I must go declare the end of this endless fight.

I snap the reins of my cheetanaire, racing away before they can see me crack. I can’t stomach the sound of Tzain’s tears. The agony of his whimpers.

My hands shake beyond my control. I can’t believe all the lives I took.

Inan. Mother.

Those soldiers. Those villagers.

Zélie— No.

I push away the weight I could never bear. If Zélie were alive, she would’ve returned with Nao. The monarchy killed her with their explosions.

Zélie’s sacrifice allowed us to win the war.

That is the story we shall tell.

But as I approach Ibadan’s borders, stories aren’t enough. Even from afar, I see the blackened corpses that lie in the streets. Corpses that lie there because of me.

I picture Inan and Mother among the dead.