Lekan turns back to us, and in that moment I realize I’ll never understand his loneliness, his pain. After the Raid, I still had Tzain and Baba. All he had were skeletons; corpses and silent gods.
“Saran coordinated his massacres, one right after the other. As my people bled on this floor and magic disappeared, he instructed his guards to kill yours.”
I close my eyes, willing away the images of fire and blood the Raid calls forth.
Baba’s cries as a guard broke his arm.
Mama clawing at the black majacite chain around her neck.
My screams as they dragged her away.
“Why didn’t they do something?” Tzain shouts. “Why didn’t they stop him?”
I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing to ease his rage. I know my brother. I know his yells mask the pain.
“My people are tasked with protecting human life. We are not allowed to take it away.”
We stand for a long moment with only Amari’s sniffles to break the silence. Staring at the painted walls, I begin to realize how far others will go to keep us down.
“But magic’s back now, right?” Amari asks, wiping her eyes. Tzain hands her a ripped swatch of his cloak, but his kindness only seems to cause more tears. “The scroll worked for Zélie and Mama Agba,” Amari continues. “It transformed my friend, too. If we can bring the scroll to all the div?ners in Or?sha, won’t that be enough?”
“Saran broke the old connection between the maji and the gods above when he slaughtered the sêntaros. The scroll brings back magic because it has the ability to spark a new connection with the gods, but to make that connection permanent and bring magic back for good, we need to perform the sacred ritual.” Lekan pulls out the scroll with reverence. “I spent years searching for the three holy artifacts, almost all of it in vain. I managed to recover the bone dagger, but at times I worried Saran had managed to destroy the others.”
“I don’t think they can be destroyed,” Amari says. “My father ordered his admiral to get rid of the scroll and the sunstone, but he failed.”
“Your father’s admiral failed because the artifacts cannot be destroyed by human hands. They were given life through magic. Only magic can bring about their death.”
“So we can do it?” I press. “We can still bring magic back?”
For the first time, Lekan smiles, hope shining behind his golden eyes. “The centennial solstice is upon us, the tenth centenary of Sky Mother’s gifts to mankind. It gives us one last chance to right our wrongs. One last chance to keep magic alive.”
“How?” Tzain asks. “What do we have to do?”
Lekan unrolls the scroll, interpreting its symbols and pictures. “On the centennial solstice, a sacred island appears off the northern coast of the Orinion Sea. It is home to the temple of our gods. We must take the scroll, the sunstone, and the bone dagger there and recite the ancient incantation on this scroll. If we complete the ritual, we can create new blood anchors and restore the connection, securing magic for another hundred years.”
“And every div?ner will become a maji?” Amari asks.
“If you can complete the ritual before the solstice, every div?ner who has reached the age of thirteen will transform.”
The centennial solstice, I repeat in my head, calculating how much time we have left. Mama Agba’s summer graduation always falls on the crescent moon, after the annual tigerfish harvest. If the solstice is upon us …
“Wait,” Tzain exclaims. “That’s less than one moon away!”
“What?” My heart seizes. “What happens if we miss it?”
“Miss it and Or?sha will never see magic again.”
My stomach drops like I’ve been pushed off the mountain. One moon? One moon or never again?
“But magic’s already coming back.” Tzain shakes his head. “It came with the scroll. If we can get it to all the div?ners—”
“That will not work,” Lekan interrupts. “The scroll does not connect you to Sky Mother. It only ignites your connection to your sister deity. Without the ritual, the magic will not last beyond the solstice. Reestablishing the maji’s connection to Sky Mother is the only way.”
Tzain pulls out his map, and Lekan charts a course to where the sacred temple will appear. I pray the location is within reach, but Tzain’s eyes bulge in alarm.
“Wait,” Amari says as she raises her hands. “We have the scroll and the bone dagger, but where is the sunstone?” She eyes his robes expectantly, but no glowing stone comes forth.
“I have been tracking the stone from Warri since it first washed ashore. I was following a lead on it in Ibeji when my spirit called me back here. I have to assume it was so I could meet you.”
“So you don’t have it?” I ask.
Lekan shakes his head, and Tzain nearly explodes. “Then how are we supposed to do this? Travel alone will take a full moon!”
The answer becomes as stark as the paintings on the wall. The div?ners will never become maji. Saran will always be in control.
“Can’t you help us?” Amari asks.
“I can aid you.” Lekan nods. “But I have limits. Only a woman can become our mamaláwo. I cannot perform the ritual.”
“But you have to do it,” Amari presses. “You are the only sêntaro left!”
“It does not work like that.” Lekan shakes his head. “Sêntaros are not like maji. Your connection to the gods is cemented in your blood. That connection to Sky Mother is what’s needed to complete the ritual.”
“Then who can do it?”
Lekan looks at me, heavy in his gaze. “A maji. One tethered to the gods.”
It takes a moment for Lekan’s words to hit; when they do I nearly laugh.
“If Sky Mother brought the scroll to you through a descendant of Saran’s blood, her will is clear.”
Her will is wrong, I almost shoot back. I can’t save the maji. I can barely save myself.
“Lekan, no.” My gut clenches the way it did when Amari first grabbed me in the market. “I’m not strong enough. I’ve never even performed an incantation. You said the scroll only connected me to Oya. I’m not connected to Sky Mother, either!”
“I can amend that.”
“Then amend yourself. Amend Tzain!” I push my brother forward. Even Amari would be a better candidate than me.
But Lekan grabs my hand and leads me forward, continuing through the dome. Before I can object, he cuts me off.
“The gods don’t make mistakes.”
*
BEADS OF SWEAT GATHER on my forehead as we climb another set of stone steps. We pass stair after stair, ascending toward the top of the mountain. With each step my mind twists and tumbles, reminding me of all the ways this can fail.
Maybe if we already had the sunstone …
If the royal guard wasn’t breathing down our backs …
If Lekan would just get someone else to do the stupid ritual …
My chest tightens, suffocating under the threat of failure. Baba’s crooked smile returns to my mind, the hope in his eyes. As long as we don’t have magic, they will never treat us with respect.
We need this ritual. It’s our only hope. Without it, we’ll never get power.
The monarchy will always treat us like maggots.