WHEN THE SUN climbs onto the horizon, none of my Reapers speak. We watch from a cliff as it sets the sky ablaze, warm rays spilling over the hilly terrain outside the sanctuary. It lights the blankets of fog seeping through the mammoth trees, revealing the baboonems that swing through the jungle leaves. I study the path I want to take as the sun’s rays reach our finish line.
“Over there.” I point to the hill where Amari and I first trained. “First one to the top wins.”
“That’ll be me.” Mári rubs her hands together. “Everyone else stay out of my way.”
I smile at her resolve. The hill lies almost three kilometers outside the sanctuary’s mountain walls. This’ll be our greatest distance yet. After a half-moon of training, it’s the perfect way to test their mastery over our new incantations.
“When I win, can I be your Second?” Mári asks.
Behind me, Mâzeli crosses his arms. Though he’s gaining control over the incantation, he has yet to master the wings.
“Whoever wins gets to brag till the end of time,” I offer instead. “These are the first Reaper races. Oya herself will sing the winner’s praises.”
All three of their faces light up and a flutter fills my heart. I remember looking at Mama Agba the same way when she would tell us stories of the gods.
I wait as they take position, prepping to recite the incantation. Bimpe cracks her knuckles. Mâzeli shakes out his leg.
“Be safe.” I lift my hands. “Three … two…”
“One!” Mári shouts. She takes off in a sprint, afro-puffs bouncing as she runs. The others scramble after her as she leaps from the cliff.
“Èmí òkú, gba ààyé nínú mi—”
Mári’s shadows shoot from her hands, weaving together to form a glider at her back. The wine-colored shadows shift with the changing currents, allowing her to surf the wind.
Her laughter rings as she slips into the lead, nearing the grassy hill. But a strong gust of wind blows her off course. I have to navigate the flow myself as I take off.
“—Jáde nínú àwon òjìjí re. Yí padà láti owó mi!”
Below, Bimpe takes a different approach. Her shadows billow behind her in a large sheet, trapping the wind like the sails of a boat as she floats to the ground. When she nears the gushing river along the trail, she recites the incantation. The shadows of death dissipate in puffs of smoke, transforming to form a board under her feet.
“Take that, Mári!” Bimpe beams as she surfs the thrashing currents with her wiry frame. Her waist-length braids bounce against her dark skin as the shadows propel her through the water.
Incredible. I bring my shadows in, drawing closer to the trees to follow her path. I don’t think anyone will beat her until I hear Mâzeli’s shout.
“—Yí padà láti owó mi!”
He passes below, a blur arcing beneath the trees. His lavender shadows are still too weak to maintain their form, but he uses that weakness to his advantage. As soon as the shadows release, he casts again, molding the spirits into another rope. They wrap around the next branch and Mâzeli pulls, allowing him to shoot forward.
“Keep going!” I shout from above, eyes wide at the sight. Mâzeli swings from shadow to shadow like a gorillion swinging from jungle vines. The way he moves steals the rest of my words. I never thought to use the shadows of death that way.
When he lands on top of the hill, a swell of pride heats me from within.
“I did it!” He punches up his arms. “I’m the greatest Reaper to ever live!”
“No fair.” Mári lands after him. “I thought we had to fly!”
My shadows dissipate as I touch onto the grassy hill. “I never said that.”
Mâzeli stalks around the mountain with his hands on his hips and his chest raised. “I am the new Soldier of Death! No—call me its master!”
“You are no master!” Mári huffs.
I laugh as they bicker, wishing I could share their joy. At first I think of telling Tzain, but Roën sneaks his way into my mind. I can only imagine the trouble he’d get Mâzeli into once he saw how he could move. He’d probably try to induct the poor boy into his mercenary crew.
I smile at the thought as I turn to greet Bimpe, hugging her as she climbs the hill. But when I near the slope, I spot a white streak moving below.
Amari’s lithe form passes between two large hills in the distance, seemingly unaware of our presence. She doesn’t move like she’s taking a stroll. She moves like she doesn’t want to be seen.
“Lead the others back,” I squeeze Mâzeli’s shoulder. “I want to check something out.”
“Is everything alright?” he asks, and I nod.
“I’ll meet you back at the temple.”
He bows before turning to the others, and I jump from the ledge. By now the shadows of death are second nature. I don’t need to speak the incantation as they wrap around my arms, allowing me to glide to the ground.
What are you doing? I tail Amari, lifting up a thick web of vines to follow her path. We haven’t spoken since I destroyed her scroll in the natural baths. According to Tzain, she actually expects me to apologize.
She must be making a run for Lagos. I pinch my lips together, holding back my fist. I could knock out her teeth for this. What’s it going to take for her to realize the monarchy will never accept her bid for peace?
“Amari, stop!” I break forward, following her into a jungle clearing. She freezes at the sound of my voice. I grab her shoulder and whip her around.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The color drains from her cheeks, but she doesn’t speak.
It’s only then that I see the second streak of white waiting in the trees.