Page 11 of Children of Blood and Bone

I shouldn’t be asking when things got this bad. I should ask why I ever thought things had gotten better.

I look to the single black calla lily woven into the netted window of our hut, the only living connection to Mama I have left. When we livedin Ibadan, she would place calla lilies in the window of our old home to honor her mother, a tribute maji pay to their dead.

Usually when I look at the flower, I remember the wide smile that came to Mama’s lips when she would inhale its cinnamon scent. Today all I see in its wilted leaves is the black majacite chain that took the place of the gold amulet she always wore around her neck.

Though the memory is eleven years old, it’s clearer to me now than my own vision.

That was the night things got bad. The night King Saran hung my people for the world to see, declaring war against the maji of today and tomorrow. The night magic died.

The night we lost everything.

Baba shudders and I run to his side, placing a hand on his back to keep him upright. His eyes hold no anger, only defeat. As he clings to the worn blanket, I wish I could see the warrior I knew when I was a child. Before the Raid, he could fight off three armed men with nothing but a skinning knife in hand. But after the beating he got that night, it took him five moons before he could even talk.

They broke him that night, battered his heart and shattered his soul. Maybe he would’ve recovered if he hadn’t woken to find Mama’s corpse bound in black chains. But he did.

He’s never been the same since.

“Alright.” Tzain sighs, always searching for an ember in the ashes. “Let’s get out on the boat. If we leave now—”

“Won’t work,” I interrupt. “You saw the market. Everyone’s scrambling to meet the tax. Even if we could bring in fish, whatever spare coin people have is gone.”

“And we don’t have a boat,” Baba mutters. “I lost it this morning.”

“What?” I didn’t realize that the boat wasn’t outside. I turn to Tzain, ready to hear his new plan, but he slumps to the reed floor.

I’m done.…I press into the wall and close my eyes.

No boat, no coin.

No way to avoid the stocks.

A heavy silence descends in the ahéré, cementing my sentence.Maybe I’ll be assigned to the palace.Waiting on spoiled nobles would be preferable to coughing up coal dust in the mines of Calabrar or the other nefarious channels stockers can force divîners into. From what I’ve heard, the underground brothels aren’t even close to the worst of what the stockers might make me do.

Tzain shifts in the corner. I know him. He’s going to offer to take my place. But as I prepare to protest, the thought of the royal palace sparks an idea.

“What about Lagos?” I ask.

“Running away won’t work.”

“Not to run.” I shake my head. “That market’s filled with nobles. I can trade the sailfish there.”

Before either can comment on my genius, I grab parchment paper and run over to the sailfish. “I’ll come back with three moons’ worth of taxes. And coin for a new boat.” And Tzain can focus on his agbön matches. Baba can finally get some rest.I can help.I smile to myself. I can finally do something right.

“You can’t go.” Baba’s weary voice cuts into my thoughts. “It’s too dangerous for a divîner.”

“More dangerous than the stocks?” I ask. “Because if I don’t do this, that’s where I’m headed.”

“I’ll go to Lagos,” Tzain argues.

“No, you won’t.” I tuck the wrapped sailfish into my pack. “You can barely barter. You’ll blow the entire trade.”

“I may get less coin, but I can protect myself.”

“So can I.” I wave Mama Agba’s staff before tossing it into my pack.

“Baba, please.” Tzain shoos me away. “If Zél goes, she’ll do something stupid.”

“If I go, I’ll come back with more coin than we’ve ever seen.”

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