ANY RELIEF THE SIGHT of Mama Agba could bring quickly turns to despair.
“No.”
“This is not up for debate.” Mama Agba shakes her head. “Far too many children have perished in this fight.”
“I said no!” I turn around. “I’ll find a way. I just need time.”
“You do not have time.” Mama Agba grabs my shoulder, forcing me to face her. “Nehanda’s already declared the end of the war. The maji she captured have mere days before execution.”
“Mama Agba—”
“Tí o ò bá pa enu ù rẹ mọ!” She raises her cane above my head. “Shut up and listen!”
I flinch out of instinct, waiting for the smack of her staff. Mama Agba’s nostrils flare as she sets it back down, using it to walk toward me. But when she nears, I can’t meet her eyes. My throat burns with everything I wish I hadn’t said.
“Look at me.” She lays her wrinkled hand on my cheek. “Zélie, look at me. You are my heart. There is nothing you could do in this world that I would not forgive.”
She wraps her arms around me, enveloping me in the smell of sweetened tea. More tears fall as I breathe it in, savoring the scent of her love.
“I won’t let you do this.”
“You have no choice,” she says. “Our people need you.”
“They need you more.” I squeeze the folds of her robes, thinking of all she built. All she saved. The maji would’ve died ten times over if it weren’t for every effort she made. My entire family would’ve perished.
Mama Agba takes my hand in her own, quieting my objections with her touch. She doesn’t speak as she leads me down the winding path away from Amari’s cell. She stares at the clouds that pass over the mountain’s ledge.
“Do you remember when I told you about my ìsípayá?” she asks. “When I ascended years ago, I saw myself kneeling on a mountaintop. Sky Mother welcomed me with open arms.” She turns to me, mahogany eyes shining. “At the time, I thought I was peeking into the beyond. Now I see my vision was of you all along.”
She kisses my forehead, using her robes to wipe my tears. She holds me as I sob, fighting the sacrifice she tries to make.
“I can’t.” My voice cracks. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You do not have to do this by yourself. You carry all of us in your heart.” She takes my hand and lays it over my chest, lacing our fingers together. “We shall live in every breath you take. Every incantation you speak.”
A smile spreads across her dark skin, crinkling the skin around her eyes.
“You are the children of the gods. You shall never be alone.”
WHEN I REACH the mountaintop, it’s so quiet my footsteps echo like thunder. The ten maji stand in a circle. Amari watches from behind Tzain, her arms still bound in metal restraints.
The elders bow as they step back, creating a single path. Their bodies align to form a perfect circle.
All that’s missing is its center.
You can do this. I dig my nails into my palms as I walk forward. Pointed pillars close around us like a fence, circling the flat mountaintop. Beyond the red stone, the setting sun paints the sky in vibrant reds and burning oranges. It brings me back to the days when Mama walked this very path, preparing to lead the Reapers of Ibadan.
You carry all of us in your heart. We shall live in every breath you take. Every incantation you speak.
Mama Agba’s promise swells inside me as I remember how the sunlight would shine through my mother’s coils. Today it runs through my own, bathing my white hair in gold. I hold my breath as I step into the center of the circle.
Ahead of me, Dakarai moves to bring Mama Agba in, his round face somber. Pressure builds in my chest as her cane smacks against the hard stone. But every wall I have falls the moment I face her. It’s impossible to fight my tears.
Mama Agba glides forward in a shining suit of armor, silver collar gleaming around her neck. Her silk cloak moves like clouds in the wind. Kâmarū has even fashioned her a glistening cane. Her white coils sit like a crown on her head.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Nana—” Na’imah sings under her breath, starting Sky Mother’s song. Her voice rings in our silence, a melody to accompany our grief. When the others join in, Mama Agba closes her eyes and rests her hands over her heart. She takes everything in before turning to Dakarai.
“My elder,” Mama Agba addresses him, wiping the tears that streak his russet-toned skin. “You are the dream of our people. Never doubt what you can achieve. Trust the things you see.”
Dakarai nods and wipes the snot from his nose. Mama Agba kisses his forehead and holds him tight before letting go. I expect her to make her way forward, but she walks to Kâmarū. She stops in front of each person in the circle, passing on words of wisdom. Even in her final moments, she guides us forward.
A Seer until the end.
“My brave boy.” Mama Agba wiggles Tzain’s ear. “You have grown into an even braver man.”
She makes Tzain laugh through his pain. He wipes his eyes and grabs her hand.
“Thank you for everything.”
She pulls him close, rubbing her hand up and down his back. “Take care of them. But do not forget to take care of yourself.”
“Please don’t do this.” Amari’s voice cracks with tears. She hangs her head when Mama Agba steps in front of her, metal restraints still clinking around her wrists.
“You are not your mistakes.” Mama Agba holds both of her shoulders, making Amari cry harder. “Do not let one moment define or destroy you. The gods work in mysterious ways. Have faith in their greater plan.”
When Amari nods, Mama Agba kisses her cheek. I try to prepare myself, but I can’t when she turns toward me. A smile ignites her dark skin, bright like the sunset at her back. She walks with an unbreakable purpose, ready though I’ll never be.
“My little warrior.” Her eyes well for the first time. She raises my chin and squares my shoulders. “Not so little anymore.”
“Mama Agba—” I try to speak, but I can’t find the words. No matter how many times I tell myself I can do this, I’m not ready to rip my heart in half.
“Remember what I said.” She wipes my tears and places her hand on my chest. “Every breath. Every chant. You fight with the heart of your father. The spirit of your mother. When this is over, you will fight with me as well.”
She kisses my forehead, squeezing my hand tight. I hold her in my arms, doing everything I can to soak in her embrace. I try to memorize every wrinkle in her face. To inhale the scent of shea butter in her coils.
When I can hold her no longer, she bows her head and kneels. My own hand shakes as I grab hers and remove my dagger.
“Go ahead.”
I bring the blade across her palm, creating a thin line of blood. It drips down her hand, glowing white as it falls. She exhales when I draw the sacred mark along her forehead with my thumb. I put her hand on my sternum as I whisper the command.
“Ẹ tọnná agbára yin.”
The tattoos on my back start to glow as the blood magic takes hold. Mama Agba gasps when the first drop of her blood falls to the ground. It sinks into the stone, sizzling with smoke.
White light spreads from our center, cracking through the mountaintop like a spiderweb. When it hits the maji around me, ten disparate heartbeats fill my head.
Buh-bump.
Buh-bump.
Each claps like thunder. Their pulses summon the storm. Howling winds swirl around us as white particles of light form in front of each chest, every lifeforce being called forward. They hang like fireflies in the night, glowing brighter with my chant. Tethers form as they blend together, reaching toward my center.
“Ẹ tọnná agbára yin.”
My tattoos glow brighter than they ever have as the particles condense. Magic weaves itself together like threads in a tapestry. My body strains as they hit my chest.
The force lifts me into the air and Mama Agba follows, rising above the stone. Her hands fall limp as her chest rises. The wind blows through her silk cloak.
“Ẹ tọnná agbára yin!” It hurts to speak the words. Blood magic spreads inside Mama Agba, glowing through every vein. It shines brightest when it reaches her heart. My chest aches as it breaks her apart.
Her complexion darkens, turning deeper than the night. Particles of light shine through her armor and silks, glowing like stars woven into her skin.
With her rise, the spaces between the different hearts draw to a close. Beat by beat, each pulse slows. They fall into sync with the sacred rhythm as the ancient command leaves my mouth.
“Ẹ tọnná agbára yin.”
With the final chant, the shine around Mama Agba becomes too bright. She lights up the night like a comet flying through the sky.
I don’t feel the moment my feet touch back to the ground. My chest thunders with the force of a storm. Each pulse is like lightning in my blood.
The power of ten hearts beating as one.
I press my hand to my chest and look up, somehow feeling the pulse of Mama Agba’s love. Though tears fall from my eyes, the sensation makes me smile.
“Títí di òdí kejì,” I whisper the sacrament under my breath. I grab her fallen cane.
I won’t let you down.