Page 2 of Children of Anguish and Anarchy

We were moments away from winning the war.…

“Attack!”

Tattoos ignite along my skin, covering my body in a twisting light.

Gravel and dirt float around our feet.

Bark splits in the surrounding trees.

The legion of tîtáns run forward in droves, all glimmering in their golden armor. When I raise my hand, every tîtán freezes in place.

They seize as I close my fist.…

When I shut my eyes, I can still see it—the battle for Lagos runs through my mind. When we brought magic back to Orïsha, it didn’t just return to the maji. The sacred ritual gave birth to the tîtáns, granting Queen Nehanda and her military followers devastating power.

Before our final attack, Mama Agba sacrificed her life, allowing me to connect my heart to the hearts of the other nine maji elders. Together, we created a force the tîtáns couldn’t withstand. As a united front, the maji elders commanded the earth and raised the winds.

That night was supposed to be the end of the monarchy’s reign. The night the maji joined together to rule our kingdom again. After centuries of oppression, our fight was at an end.

We had retribution for all of our pain.

But now…

I stare at my shackled hands. At my bare brown skin. The tattoos that used to glow are gone. My white mane has been ripped away. The magic I fought so hard to restore is dead. My Orïsha is farther away than it’s ever been.

I don’t know how to carry on.

I don’t know how to hold on to the will to live.

“Oya, please…” I whisper the words, risking the heartbreak of another unanswered call. But thunder still rumbles through the ventilation shaft. I have to believe that even this far from Orïsha’s shores, the thunder means Oya is here at last.

“Please.” I think of all the times she’s answered me before. The glimpses I’ve caught of her hurricane spirit, raging like the storms. “Please free us from these Skulls. Please bring your people back home—”

“Bindið hendr honum!” a shout rings out.

My stomach drops at the harsh, guttural sound of the Skulls’ tongue. Heavy boots thunder over the floorboards above, and lines of sawdustrain into my eyes. Feeling drains from my fingertips as I prepare for the Skull’s cold grip. My neck burns in anticipation of the thick needle they’ll jam into my throat, the venomous majacite they’ll pump into my blood. Every night, the Skulls return like clockwork, injecting the poison into my body to keep me numb.

“Oya, please!”

I reach for the magic my goddess once granted me—the power to raise the spirits of those who have passed. I can’t bear another night of the Skulls’ beastly palms holding me down. Of pain so great, I can hardly make a sound.

There were days when entire armies of animations fought at my command, days when my spirit soldiers ripped through my enemies like the wind. If I could raise just one, I could hold the Skulls back.

With one animation, I would have a fighting chance.

“Please!” I beg. But no matter how hard I push, no power comes forth. I’m left staring at my open palms. I haven’t felt the touch of my magic since we sailed from Orïsha’s shores—

The wooden door to my hold shudders open. I scramble to the farthest corner of my cage. Fear slams my mouth shut. The Skulls beat us whenever they hear my tongue.

Torchlight dances into the hold as the first Skull enters. Flames light the same mask they all wear—skeleton heads smelted together in bronze and blood. The crushed bones come together in jagged pieces, creating one large, tarnished skull.

Braids run through the Skull’s auburn curls. Unruly scars cover his bare chest. Bloodstains coat his beastly hands and his wool pants. A crimson axe hangs from his animal-skin belt.

I brace myself against the bars of my cage as the Skull leers at me, an animal closing in. His snarl is apparent despite the bronze mask fixed over the bridge of his nose and hooked underneath his chin.

In his eyes, I see the gaze of every enemy I’ve had to face. Every opponent who’s ever stood in my way. The way the Skull stares at me now…

I ball my fists.

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