Be brave, Amari.
This time I hold on to Binta’s words, wrapping them around my body like a suit of armor. I can be brave.
For Binta, I must be everything.
Tzain holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. He leaves to take his place. With a groan, the boat surges forward with the water, taking us to battle. We sail through the final tunnel. The screams of the crowd grow wild, frenzied for our blood. For the first time I wonder if Father knows of this “entertainment.” If he knew, would he care?
I grip the railing of the ship as hard as I can, a futile attempt to quell my nerves. Before I can brace myself, we enter the arena, exposed, out for the world to see.
The smell of brine and vinegar hits like a wave as I blink in the astounding sight. Nobles line the first few rows above the arena, vibrant silks waving as they pound their fists against the railings.
Turning away, my heart constricts as I lock eyes with a young, wide-eyed div?ner on another boat. His blank face says it all.
For one of us to live, the other must die.
Zélie laces her fingers and cracks her knuckles, walking to the bow of the ship. She mouths the incantation, steeling herself against the distractions before we begin.
The crowd roars with each new boat that enters the games, but as I survey the opponents, a terrible realization strikes. Last night there were ten boats.
Today there are thirty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ZéLIE
NO …
I count again and again, waiting for someone to announce that there’s been a mistake. We can’t outlast twenty-nine other boats. Our plan could barely outlast ten.
“Tzain,” I shriek as I run to him, betraying all my fear. “I can’t do it! I can’t take them all down.”
Amari follows, shaking so much she nearly trips on the deck. The crew trails her, bombarding Tzain with endless questions. His eyes go wild as we swarm him, trying to focus on any one thing. But then his jaw sets. He closes his eyes.
“Quiet!”
His voice booms over the madness, silencing our cries. We watch as he surveys the arena while the announcer riles up the crowd.
“Abi, take the boat on the left. Dele, the one on the right. Form an alliance with the crews. Tell them we’ll last longer if we target the boats farther away.”
“But what if—”
“Go!” Tzain shouts over their objections, sending the brother and sister running. “Rowers,” he continues, “new plan. Only half of you guys stay at the paddles. Keep us moving. We won’t get much speed, but we’re dead if we stay still.” Half the laborers scramble to resume their positions at the wooden oars. Tzain turns back to us, the agb?n champion alive in his eyes. “The rest of you join the cannon assembly line and aim for the boats in front. I want steady cannon fire. But be measured—the blastpowder will only last us so long.”
“And the secret weapon?” Baako, the strongest of the crew, asks.
The brief calm I felt under Tzain’s leadership evaporates. My chest squeezes so tight a sharp pain runs up my side. The weapon isn’t ready, I want to shout. If you put your faith in her, you’ll die.
I can picture it now: Tzain screaming above the water, me holding my breath as I try to push my magic out. I’m not the maji Mama was. What if I can’t be the Reaper they need?
“It’s under control,” Tzain assures him. “Just make sure we stay alive long enough to use it.”
“Who’s ready … for the battle of a lifetime?”
The crowd roars in response to the announcer’s goading. Their screams drown out even his amplified voice. I grip Tzain’s arm as the crew splits. My throat is so dry it’s hard to speak. “What’s my plan?”
“Same as the old. We just need you to take out more.”
“Tzain, I can’t—”
“Look at me.” He puts both hands on my shoulders. “Mama was the most powerful Reaper I’ve ever seen. You’re her daughter. I know you can do this.”
My chest tightens, but I can’t tell if it’s fear or something else.
“Just try.” He squeezes my shoulders. “Even one animation will help.”
“Ten … nine … eight … seven…”
“Stay alive!” he yells before positioning himself by the armory.
“Six … five … four … three…”
The cheers rise to deafening levels as I run to the ship’s railing.
“Two…”
There’s no chance to back out now. We either get the stone—
“One!”
—or we die trying.
The horn sounds and I jump overboard, crashing into the warm sea with rushing speed. As I hit, our ship shakes.
The first cannons fire.
Vibrations shudder through the water, rippling through my core. Spirits of the dead chill the space around me; fresh kills from today’s games.
Alright, I think to myself, remembering Minoli’s animation. Goosebumps prick my skin as the spirits near, my tongue curls at the taste of blood though I keep my mouth closed. The souls are desperate for my touch, for a way to return to life. This is it.
If I’m truly a Reaper, I have to show it now.
“4mí àw?n tí ó ti sùn, mo ké pè yín ní òní—”
I wait for the animations to swirl out of the water before me, but only a few bubbles escape my hands. I try again, drawing from the energy of the dead, but no matter how hard I concentrate, no animations come forth.
Dammit. The air in my throat thins, going faster as my pulse quickens. I can’t do this. I can’t save us—
A blast thunders from above.
I spin as the ship beside ours sinks. Corpses and shattered wood rain down. The water around me reddens. A bloodied body plunges past me to the bottom.
My gods …
Terror grips my chest.
One cannonball to the right and that could’ve been Tzain.
Come on, I coach myself as the air in my lungs shrivels further. There’s no time to fail. I need my magic now.
Oya, please. The prayer feels strange, like a language half-learned and entirely forgotten. But after my awakening, our connection should be stronger than ever. If I call, she has to answer.
Help me. Guide me. Lend me your strength. Let me protect my brother and free the spirits trapped in this place.
I close my eyes, gathering the electric energy of the dead into my bones. I’ve studied the scroll. I can do this.
I can be a Reaper now.
“4mí àw?n tí ó ti sùn—”
A lavender light glows in my hands. Sharp heat courses through my veins. The incantation pushes my spiritual pathways open, allowing ashê to flow through. The first spirit surges through my body, ready for my command. Unlike Minoli, my only knowledge of this animation is his death; my stomach aches from the cannonball that ripped through his gut.
When I finish the incantation, the first animation floats before me, a swirl of vengeance and bubbles and blood. The animation takes the shape of a human, forming its body out of the water around us. Though its expression is clouded by the bubbles, I sense the militant resolve of its spirit. My own soldier. The first in an army of the dead.