I nod and leave the tent, the weight of Tzain’s warning dragging me down. But as soon as I step into the camp, all the heaviness evaporates.
Sunlight fills the spacious valley; every acre of the lush greens explodes with life. Young div?ners bustle through the maze of pop-up shacks, tents, and carts. Each person shines with white hair and vibrant patterns woven throughout their dashikis and spirited kaftans. It’s like Sky Mother’s promise laid before my eyes, come to life after all this time.
“Gods.” I spin, taking it all in as Zu waves me over. I’ve never seen so many div?ners in one spot, especially with so much … joy. The crowd laughs and smiles through the hills, white hair braided, dreaded, and flowing. An unfamiliar freedom breathes in their shoulders, in their gait, in their eyes.
“Look out!”
I throw my hands up, smiling as a group of young children run past. The oldest among the crowd look to be in their twenties, none older than twenty-five. Of all the div?ners before us, they’re the most bewildering to see; never in my life have I encountered so many grown div?ners outside the prison cells or the stocks.
“Finally!” Zu hooks her arm in mine, sporting a smile almost too big for her face. She pulls me past the yellow-painted cart where Inan and Amari are waiting. Amari grins when she sees me, but her face falls when she doesn’t find Tzain.
“He wanted to rest,” I answer her unasked question. And he didn’t want to see your brother.
Inan looks at me, handsome in a cobalt kaftan with fitted, patterned pants. He looks different without the harsh lines and jagged metal of his uniform. Softer. Warmer. His streak flashes bright in his hair, for once not hidden behind a helmet or black dye. Our eyes linger on each other, but it takes only a second for Zu to whip between us and pull us both along.
“We’ve made progress, but we still have a ways to go if we’re going to be ready for tonight.” She seems to speak a million meters a second, always discovering something new she has to say before finishing her last thought.
“This is where the old stories are going to be.” Zu points to a makeshift stage occupying a grassy knoll between two tents. “There’s a div?ner from Jimeta who’s telling them. You have to meet her, she’s enchanting. We think she’ll be a Tider. Oh, and this! This is where we’ll have the div?ners touch the scroll. I can’t wait to watch that, it’ll be incredible!”
Zulaikha moves through the crowd with the magnetism of a queen. Div?ners stop and stare as she passes, pointing and whispering about us because she’s holding my hand. Usually I hate when others stare, but today I find myself reveling in it. It’s not like the guards or kosidán, who want me to disappear. The div?ners’ gazes hold a reverence, a new kind of respect.
“Here’s the best part.” Zu gestures to a large clearing being decorated with painted lanterns and colorful sheets. “This is where the opening procession will take place. Zélie, you must be in it!”
“Oh, you don’t want that.” I shake my head fervently, but I laugh when Zu grabs my wrist and jumps up and down. Her joy is contagious; even Inan can’t help but smile.
“You would be so great!” Her eyes go wide. “We don’t have a Reaper yet, and Oya’s attire would fit you perfectly. It has this long red skirt and golden top—Inan! Don’t you think she would look incredible?”
Inan’s eyes widen and he stammers, looking between me and Zu as if one of us will release him from answering.
“Zu, it’s fine.” I wave her off. “I’m sure you can find someone else.”
“Probably be for the best.” Inan recovers his voice. His eyes drift to me for a moment, before looking away. “But yes, I think Zélie would look beautiful.”
My face heats, growing warmer when Amari studies us. I turn away and focus my attention elsewhere, trying to ignore the way Inan’s answer makes something inside me tingle. Once again the way he carried me into the camp forces itself back into my mind.
“Zu, what’s that?” I point to a black cart with a long line of div?ners.
“That’s where Folake’s painting the clan baajis.” Zu’s eyes light up. “You have to get one!”
“Baajis?” Amari’s nose scrunches in confusion.
Zu gestures to the symbol painted on her neck. She grabs Inan and Amari by the hands and pulls, running ahead. “They’re lovely. Come on, you have to see it now!”
Zu moves fast, leading them farther through the crowd. I consider a brisker pace, but there’s something about walking through this camp that makes me want to slow down. Each time I pass a new div?ner, my mind runs wild imagining all the different types of maji they could become. There could be future Winders on my left, or Seers on my right. With ten clans, there’s even a chance a future Reaper is right in front of m— A stranger bumps into me, clad in red and black. He grips my waist, steadying me before I tumble back.
“Apologies.” He smiles. “My feet have a nasty habit of following my heart.”
“It’s fi…” My voice trails off. The stranger looks like no one I’ve ever seen, no descendant of Or?shan blood. His complexion is like sandstone, rich with copper undertones. Unlike the round eyes of Or?shans, his are angular and hooded, highlighting his stormy gray eyes.
“Ro?n.” He smiles again. “It’s a delight. I hope you can find the heart to forgive my clumsiness.” His accent clips the t’s and rolls the r’s in his speech. He has to be a merchant, some trader from another land.
Finally.
I look the young man up and down. Tzain’s told me about meeting the occasional foreigner while traveling Or?sha for his agb?n matches, but I’ve never met one myself. Over the years I’ve heard descriptions of unique traders in crowded markets and travelers passing through Or?sha’s busiest cities. I always hoped one would come to Ilorin, but they never make it all the way to our eastern coast.
Questions fill my mind, but then I realize his hand is still on the small of my back. My cheeks warm as I slide away from his touch. I shouldn’t stare, but from the smirk on Ro?n’s lips, I can almost guarantee he likes it.
“Till we meet again.” He winks and struts off, holding my gaze. But before he can take another step, Inan reappears and grabs his arm.
The smile fades from Ro?n’s eyes as he glances at Inan’s grip. “I don’t know your intention, brother. But that’s a good way to lose a hand.”
“So is pickpocketing.” Inan sets his jaw. “Give it back.”
The gray-eyed stranger glances at me; with a sheepish shrug he removes a compacted staff from the pocket of his draped pants. My eyes widen as I reach for my empty waistband.
“How the hell did you do that?” I swipe back the staff. Mama Agba’s trained us to feel a thief’s touch. I should’ve sensed his hand.
“First bump.”
“Then why’d you linger?” I ask. “If you’re that smooth, you could’ve gotten away.”