CHAPTER 8

A Scholar of Destiny

By the time Ekon returned to the Temple of Lkossa, dawn had shrouded it in mist.

He stared at the old building, at the grand alabaster staircase gleaming in the morning light. It was composed of twenty-seven steps—in theory, a good number.

That was the only good thing he’d thought about in recent hours.

For the better part of the night, he’d wandered the city’s empty streets, letting the count of his footsteps numb his mind.

Seventy-five thousand, six hundred and twenty-one steps—at last count.

The walking had helped him delay the inevitable for a time, but now the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon. He could avoid the day no longer.

He eased through the same front doors he’d entered the night before, but instead of following the corridor that led to the worship hall, he took a narrower side stairway up to the dormitories. They were quiet at this hour, a line of closed doors muffling the sounds of his sleeping co-candidates. He padded down the passageway to the last door on the right, then opened it with a sigh.

In truth, it had never been much of a bedroom. Wall to wall, it was only seven feet long, and there was always a faint smell of mildew in its air. The furnishings were sparse: a narrow bed, a rickety nightstand, and a secondhand trunk for clothes and books. A tightness constricted in his chest as he looked around. After today, this wouldn’t be his bedroom anymore; he wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the temple. Sometime this morning, while Fahim and Shomari were moved to the larger and nicer chambers befitting anointed Sons of the Six, he’d be moved to . . . he realized he wasn’t sure. He and Kamau had essentially grown up in the temple. Their family home was gone, sold shortly after Baba’s death. That house belonged to a chapter in his life that was no more, the chapter his mother had lived in. White-hot pain seared through him at the thought of her. He couldn’t remember the details of her face anymore; he’d only been four years old when she’d left one night. In his memory, there were brief glimpses of her—a flash of copper eyes, short curly hair, a birthmark on her shoulder—but they never lingered. It forced him to cling tight to the things he could remember, like silver bangles catching in sunlight, a sweet scent he knew but couldn’t place. What would Mama have thought, if she’d stayed to see what became of him?

Again, he heard Father Olufemi’s voice.

Effective immediately, your candidacy for the Sons of the Six has ended. You are dismissed.

Each word struck like an arrow, piercing all the soft parts of his ego. He hadn’t merely failed; he’d been formally expelled in front of the entire warriorship. In a single night, he’d broken a generations-old legacy for his family. He wouldn’t follow in Baba’s and Kamau’s footsteps. He wouldn’t prove his manhood.

He flopped down on his mattress, letting its itchy stuffing feathers poke into his back as he glared at the ceiling and tried to figure out how it had all gone wrong so fast. Each moment of the night recounted itself in his mind, blurring together like pages in a book; one in particular stayed dog-eared.

The girl.

Even now, the thought of her made Ekon’s blood boil; last night’s disaster had been, after all, her fault. But then . . . there was another feeling—uncomfortable and harder to identify. Something plucked within him when he remembered her eyes, strangely bright against the night. They’d been brown like his, but . . . they’d held something within them, a glow like two embers cooling in a hearth. He’d tried for hours to forget them, but—

You let her go.

Shomari’s accusation curdled inside him like bad milk, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Why? It was the one question he hadn’t been able to answer as he’d walked the city’s streets alone. Why did you let her go?

Thinking of the girl also made him think about the events that had unfolded just before he’d released her, when he’d found a very different set of eyes in the darkness. That pair hadn’t been brown or warm—they’d been cold, black, and utterly unfeeling. They’d belonged to something he knew.

The Shetani.

He shivered. It had been ten years since he’d last seen the creature, not that anyone else knew that. He remembered the fear he’d felt the moment he’d seen it again, the way it had dismantled him entirely. Unbidden, all the old images returned. He saw flashes of the Greater Jungle with blood on its leaves, envisioned vines covered in thorns. He saw a dead body that looked like . . .

No.

Ekon shook his head, barely noticing the way his fingers had automatically started their dancing.

One-two-three.

He saw Baba’s face.

One-two-three.

He saw the Shetani’s teeth.

One-two-three.

He saw the girl.

His eyes narrowed. That girl, whoever she’d been, had told the Shetani Go, and, without hesitation, it had obeyed. He’d never seen anything like it. The Shetani was a primordial monster, responsible for the deaths of countless people. It should have killed them both, but it hadn’t. It had done the opposite. The same persistent question ricocheted in his mind.

Why?

“Ekon?”

Someone gently rapped against the other side of his bedroom door, and Ekon sat up as it opened. A frail old man entered the room, the ghost of a smile on his withered face. His chestnut skin was wrinkled and thoroughly spotted, as though age had been welcomed as a friend instead of an adversary. Ekon flinched. In the chaos of last night, he’d forgotten all about Brother Ugo.

“I hoped I’d see you.” The elderly man offered a small nod of greeting. “Moved as fast as I could from my chambers after morning prayers, but these old legs just aren’t what they used to be.” He lifted the hem of his robe. It was deep blue, as finely made as Father Olufemi’s, but far looser on his bony frame. “You know, lately they’ve been mooing.”

“Mooing?” Ekon’s eyes narrowed. “Your legs have been mooing?”

“Yes.” Brother Ugo scratched his white beard, frowning as he examined them. “It’s a curious thing. You might say I have a . . . calf injury.” He looked up, grinning. “Do you get it? Because a baby cow is called a—”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well, excuse me!” Brother Ugo pointed a gnarled finger at him, feigning hurt. Ekon noted with a pang that the slight tremor in the old man’s varicose-veined hand was getting worse. “I recall that you used to like my jokes when you were a little boy!”

Ekon tried to swallow the hard lump rising in his throat, the renewed pain. Brother Ugo was the oldest member of the temple’s fraternal order, and nothing at all like Father Olufemi. The old man had been a mentor to him all his life, a constant advocate. Ekon hung his head, embarrassed.

“I’d like a word,” said Brother Ugo, more softly now. “Walk with me, please.”

In silence, Ekon followed Brother Ugo out of his room and through the temple’s stone-walled hallways. Their steps were slow—Brother Ugo wasn’t as fast as he’d once been—but in time, they made their way to a corridor that led to the temple’s library. Ekon had thought that was where they were headed—most of his childhood lessons had been there—but a hint of mischief touched Brother Ugo’s eyes as he made an abrupt turn to the right instead.

“Perhaps we might try for a . . . loftier view, today,” he murmured. He approached a nondescript door and wrenched it open. Inside, Ekon was surprised to find that what he’d always assumed was just a broom closet actually contained a set of narrow, inclining stairs. He was more startled when Brother Ugo marched up them without hesitation. He followed. They reached a trapdoor at the top of the steps, and the old man gave it a firm push with his shoulder. A sudden shaft of golden light poured in above them, and he wriggled through the opening with unexpected flexibility. Ekon copied the gesture and stuck his head through the door. Then he froze, stunned.

The circular garden that lay before him was like nothing he’d ever seen. It wasn’t large—he guessed he could lap its perimeter in under a minute—but almost every inch of it was blanketed with flowers. Lush roses, long-stemmed tulips, even a group of red-gold fire lilies in mid-bloom sprouted from the dark, shimmering soil like some piece of unworldly paradise. When he stared beyond the garden’s low walls, he saw the tops of every building in the city. From this vantage point, he guessed they were at one of the highest points of the temple.

“What . . . ?” He looked around. “What is this place?”

“It’s called a sky garden,” said Brother Ugo cheerfully. He closed his eyes a moment and smiled, the very image of contentment. “According to my readings, they were once quite popular among the upper classes, though I’m sad to say they’ve gone out of fashion in the last century or so.”

Ekon marveled at the place. When he looked closer at the ground, he saw that, despite the illusion, hundreds of tiny flower beds had been arranged to give the impression that the flowers grew straight from the stone, but it was still impressive landscaping. “I . . . had no idea this was here.”

“To be fair, most people don’t,” said Brother Ugo. He gave Ekon a meaningful look. “And I wouldn’t mind keeping it that way, actually. An old friend introduced this place to me many years ago, and it’s since become one of my favorites in the city, wonderful for meditations and bird-watching!”

He ambled over to a long stone bench in the garden’s center and patted a spot beside him. For several minutes, they sat in silence, side by side, before Ekon felt Brother Ugo’s gaze.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Last night did not go as you would have hoped, I presume.”

“It was a disaster.” Ekon massaged his temples. “An absolute, unmitigated nightmare.”

Brother Ugo’s eyes flitted to the thorned white rose before them. “Nightmares hunt like beasts of prey, vanquished in the light of day.” He looked up. “Do you know who said that?”

“You?”

“Good guess!” Brother Ugo smiled. “But no, those words come from a poem written by the esteemed poet and linguist Master Lumumba. Do you know what they mean?”

Ekon shook his head.

“It is an allegory. Those beasts of prey represent our worldly troubles,” Brother Ugo explained. “Often, we run from painful things and hope that they will tire of chasing us. But in truth, avoiding our troubles simply gives them more sustenance, allowing them to eventually consume us whole. Only when we cast light on them and acknowledge them can they truly be vanquished, allowing our spirits to be free.”

Ekon didn’t know exactly where the words came from, only that they rose from within him and left his mouth before he could stop them. “Brother, could I ask you about something?”

Brother Ugo smiled. “Of course.”

“I wonder what you know about . . . the Shetani.”

“The Shetani?” The old man’s voice sharpened, and at once Ekon regretted asking.

“Sorry, I—”

“No, no.” Brother Ugo shook his head, even as Ekon thought he saw something in the old man’s eyes imperceptibly change. “There is no need to apologize. I was merely surprised. Though, perhaps I shouldn’t be. You of all people would certainly have questions about the creature. I was grieved to hear of its latest attack, such senseless violence.” He leaned back slightly on the bench and interlaced his fingers. “What is it that you want to know?”

Ekon paused, considering. A part of him wanted to tell Brother Ugo everything he’d seen last night—about the old woman, the strange girl, and his actual encounter with the Shetani—but something held him back. Instead, he said: “I just wondered what’s factually known about it, where it came from.”

Brother Ugo gave him a measured look, as though evaluating, before he answered. “The Shetani’s attacks began nearly a century ago, right after the Rupture,” he said quietly. “In fact, much of the reason Yabas and Gedes don’t get along today is because of the creature; both blame the other side for its terror. Over the years, there have been many attempts to find it, thwart it, even bargain with it, but none have been successful. We at the temple have done our best to keep a record of its death toll, but even that is a sometimes difficult task. To my knowledge, no one who has seen the monster in person has lived to tell the tale.”

Except for me, Ekon thought. Me, and that girl.

Brother Ugo sighed. “It is certainly a fearsome beast, perhaps one of the most intelligent predators to ever walk these lands.”

Ekon tempered a sudden, inexplicable anger. It irritated him to hear his own mentor talk about the Shetani with any kind of respect or admiration. That beast, that monster, had taken so much away from him: first his father, and now his chance to be a warrior. If the Shetani hadn’t come to the Night Zoo at all, he would have arrested that girl without hesitation and solidified his place as a loyal Son of the Six. He’d thought everything led back to her, but he’d been wrong.

It all led back to the monster.

“I did not intend to upset you.” Brother Ugo was looking at him more carefully now, as though seeing something for the first time. “We do not have to speak any more of it, if you would prefer—”

“I hate it.” Ekon slammed his fists hard against the bench’s seat. “I wish it was dead.” He heard his own anger aloud and paused. “You probably think I should be more disciplined.”

“What I think,” the old man said gently, “is that I have no right to judge you, Ekon. I think you are hurting. And if you want to talk about it, I’ll always be here to listen.”

Ekon sighed. This hadn’t been what he’d expected this morning. If anyone had a right to be angry with him, it was Brother Ugo. His mentor had spent years molding him into the strongest possible candidate for the Sons of the Six; now it was all wasted. The words tumbled from him.

“My life is over.”

A hint of surprise, then of mirth touched Brother Ugo’s eyes. “Well, that seems generous, given your age—?”

“It’s done, Brother.” Ekon wanted to look anywhere else, but the old man’s gaze held his. “I had a chance to be something, the only thing I know how to be. Joining the Sons of the Six was what I was born to do. It was my destiny—”

“Funny.” Brother Ugo’s white brows came together like kissing caterpillars. “I didn’t know you were a scholar of destiny, able to divine the future?”

Ekon opened his mouth, but the old man continued.

“Destiny is not a single path, but many, Ekon. Some are as straight as an arrow, others twist and tangle like thread. Our duty is not to question them but to follow them.”

“Easy for you to say.”

The corners of the old man’s eyes crinkled, amused. “I follow a path too, Ekon, one that I believe will someday allow me to fulfill my most righteous work. The journey is long, but each day is a gift. And speaking of gifts . . .” He reached into the folds of his robe. To Ekon’s surprise, when Brother Ugo withdrew his hand, he was holding a leather-sheathed hanjari. It was a simple weapon, unadorned by any jewels or intricate designs on its wooden hilt, but Ekon’s breath still caught when he saw the name carved into it.

Asafa Okojo

“This . . .” Ekon’s throat tightened. He blinked hard, hating the tears that stung his eyes. “This was my—”

“Your father’s,” Brother Ugo confirmed. “Found on his person after . . . the accident. I’ve kept it for many years. In traditional circumstances, it would have gone to your older brother when he came of age two years ago, but . . .” He gave Ekon a sad smile before pressing the hilt into his hand. “You must forgive an old man’s sentimentalities.”

Ekon stared at the blade, feeling its new weight in his palm. It was crafted in an older style, not as sophisticated as he was used to, but he instantly felt a deep attachment to it.

“Thank you, Brother.”

Brother Ugo nodded to the dagger. “A wise man keeps his weapons sharp, but his mind sharper.” He paused, thoughtful. “Those words were composed by a rather excitable master of this temple called Garvicus, curious fellow. I believe Father Olufemi has several of his works in his study; he keeps the oldest volumes there. I really must inquire . . .”

Ekon let the old man’s words fade to a faint buzz in the background. He was still staring at the hanjari, feeling the goose bumps on his skin. His baba had held this blade, and he’d kept it with him until the end. He didn’t know whether to be awed by that knowledge or terrified.

“Ekon?”

He looked up. Brother Ugo had stopped musing and was now staring at him again. “I wonder, was there a particular reason you wanted to know more about the Shetani?”

Ekon tried to sound offhand. After Kamau, he probably trusted Brother Ugo more than anyone else in the world, but he still wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened last night. So he made himself shrug. “I guess I was just . . . curious.”

“Ah,” Brother Ugo said sagely. “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

Ekon massaged the bridge of his nose. “Is that another one of your terrible old-man jokes?”

Brother Ugo crossed his arms, indignant. “As a matter of fact, it is not.” He paused, stroking his beard. “Though, now that you mention it, I did hear a rather crude one recently about a pig, a farmer’s wife, and an eloko who walk into a tavern . . .”

---

Ekon let Brother Ugo’s words about destiny and the Shetani steep in his mind as he left the sky garden and wandered the temple. By now, true morning light was seeping through its arched windows, reminding him of the time, but he just couldn’t make himself return to his room to pack his things, not yet.

He didn’t realize where his feet had led him until he’d reached a short corridor, darker than most. Polished sconces every few feet kept it faintly illuminated at all times, and Ekon didn’t have to look at the distinctly black granite walls to know where he was.

Memorial Hall.

Involuntarily, his fingers traced along the cool stone. Nearly every inch of it was covered in tiny inscribed names. There were mostly retired warriors listed, occasionally the name of an esteemed master scholar of the temple. He searched the chronological roster until he found what he was looking for.

WARRIOR ASAFA OKOJO—Death in Service to the Six

Ekon looked from the name to the old hanjari now looped on his belt, and fought a shudder. Brother Ugo had said the blade was found on his father’s person after the accident.

Accident was a polite way of putting it.

Baba had been found at the edge of the Greater Jungle, mauled nearly beyond recognition. Ekon tried to remember the better things, the crinkles around his father’s dark eyes when he smiled, or the way his laugh had boomed like thunder. But those better things, just like the faint recollections he had of his mother, never lingered in his mind. In their stead, far uglier images plagued him. He envisioned an overgrown jungle, a body facedown in its leaves. Ekon screwed his eyes shut, trying to use his fingers to count away the rising nightmare, but it held fast. He watched Baba’s body rise from the dirt, mouth open in a silent scream as a creature stalked forward, a being with wretched black eyes and blood dripping from its maw. And then Ekon wasn’t seventeen anymore, he was just a little boy—a boy who’d seen everything.

A boy who’d said nothing.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Ekon turned. He hadn’t heard Kamau enter the hall. His brother’s face was inscrutable. In the sconces’ flickering light, he noted Kamau looked even more fatigued than usual. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was unkempt, and he smelled faintly of something sweet, maybe wine.

“I didn’t get much sleep,” he said, reading Ekon’s mind. “Father Olufemi called for an emergency meeting a few hours ago.”

“What about?”

“I can’t say.” Kamau’s stoic expression didn’t change. “It’s confidential.”

Confidential. There was that word again, erected between them like a wall. Ekon thought back to a different time, when he and Kamau had faced everything together. After Mama had left and Baba had been killed, it had been Kamau who’d found them a new home at the temple. The two of them had carved out a life here, built hopes and dreams together side by side. All of that was gone now.

“I spoke to Father Olufemi about you too,” Kamau murmured. “He’s agreed to let you stay in the temple.”

“What?” Ekon gawked. “How?”

“I reminded him that you’ve worked here for a decade, that you could still be of service. He said there was a position available.”

“Really?”

Kamau didn’t meet his eyes. “Brother Apunda is getting older, and he needs help overseeing temple maintenance, especially with the Bonding coming up in two months . . .”

Ekon didn’t hide his immediate scowl. Brother Apunda, the temple’s head custodian, was a stern old man who always smelled of spoiled legumes. “Kam, I really appreciate you speaking up for me,” he said in earnest. “But I don’t want to be a custodian. I want to be a warrior.”

For the first time, Kamau’s face held real sadness. “I know,” he said. “But it was the best I could do. I’m sorry.”

A silence fell between them, and Ekon looked away for a moment. When he lifted his gaze, he found that Kamau was staring at the memorial wall. Not for the first time, he wondered if his brother was thinking about the same thing he always thought about when he came here.

“I miss him.” He thought he’d said it too faintly for Kamau to hear, but his brother slowly nodded.

“Yeah.” The word was choked. “Me too.” Kamau shifted his weight. “Look, Ekkie, I know how badly you wanted to be a Son of the Six, and I know you feel like you have to be one to make Baba proud. But what Baba loved most wasn’t his uniform or title; it was the fact that he got to serve this city and its people.” Kamau looked up. “That’s something you can still do as a custodian of the temple. Working here still allows you to serve Lkossa, to be like Baba . . .”

Kamau went on, but Ekon stopped listening. His eyes had wandered, yet again, to his father’s name etched into the wall before them. In his mind, only one part of what his brother had said echoed.

Be like Baba. Be like Baba.

In seventeen years, he’d wanted plenty of things—to kiss a girl, to have more time to read in the library, treats from the temple’s kitchens—but the thing he’d wanted above all else had been singular; he’d wanted to be like Baba. He’d longed to follow in his father’s footsteps, the Okojo family’s footsteps, and to add something worthwhile to that legacy. That had been his path, laid out before him as straight as an arrow since childhood. Kamau had gotten to follow that path, but Ekon’s path had been taken away, and not because he hadn’t earned it or wanted it enough.

His path had been stolen from him, by a monster.

The Shetani had taken his father’s life, and now, in a different way, Ekon reasoned that it had taken his too. His plans, his hopes, everything he’d spent years working for was gone because of that wretched creature. His fingers tapped out a rhythm, trying to find a new count, but it was futile. There was no way to calculate a loss of that magnitude, to enumerate that kind of pain. He’d never wear the blue kaftan, never have his name added to this wall with his father’s when he someday died. His life was over before it had begun, and it was the Shetani’s fault. It always led back to the Shetani. His fingers stopped their tapping and curled until he felt the fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm. He wanted that gods-forsaken thing dead, wished with all his heart that someone would—

He stilled.

“Ekon?” In his periphery, he felt Kamau’s eyes on him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Ekon had to work to keep his expression impassive. The idea slowly forming in his mind was no more than a budding sprout; small, impossible, but . . . it was there. He was scared to think about it, to even entertain the notion, but he found that once he’d acknowledged it, its roots dug into him, refusing to let go. He chose his words carefully. “I . . . I think I’ve just . . . figured it out.”

“What?” Kamau frowned, visibly confused. “What are you—?”

“My rites of passage,” Ekon muttered to himself. “The killings . . . I could . . . Yes, then everything would be fixed . . .” Ekon ignored his brother’s arched eyebrow and started to pace. He knew it probably looked strange, abrupt, but he did his best thinking when he was in motion, counting something. At once, his fingers picked up where they’d left off. He listened to the sound of his sandals slapping against the temple’s stone floor as he let the idea unfurl in his imagination.

One-two-three. It would be foolish.

Four-five-six. It would be dangerous.

Seven-eight-nine. It would fix everything.

“Ekkie.”

Ekon stopped short, feeling dazed. Kamau was staring at him, his expression a cross between mild amusement and genuine concern.

“Let me in,” he said softly. “What are you talking about?”

Ekon swallowed. They were alone in the corridor, there was no one else around, but he was still almost afraid to speak the words. He lowered his voice. “I think I know a way to get Father Olufemi to reconsider my candidacy for the Sons of the Six.”

At once, Kamau’s face fell. No longer did he look amused; now his expression held distinct pity. He sighed, and the sound hurt more than Ekon expected.

“Ekon . . .”

“Hear me out.” Ekon raised a hand, speaking quickly. He tried not to notice that Kamau was staring at his counting fingers with a disapproving frown. “I failed my final rite of passage.” It hurt him to say the truth aloud, but he forced himself to do it. “But what if there’s another way for me to prove to Father Olufemi and the brothers of the temple that I am capable?”

Kamau’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if a candidate performed an act no other Son of the Six has ever managed to do, something that improved the lives of every single person in this city? Surely that would make Father Olufemi reconsider.”

“It might.” Kamau shrugged. “But that act would have to be truly extraordinary, it would have to be something like—”

“Like killing the Shetani?”

It seemed to take Kamau a moment to process the words. Ekon watched as understanding dawned on his brother’s face, as his mouth and eyes simultaneously widened in horror.

“Ekon,” he whispered. “No.”

“Think about it, Kam.” Ekon closed the gap between them and bowed his head. “If I could find it, if I killed it—”

Kamau shook his head. “Ekon, listen to me, you can’t—”

“You know, I’m not as incompetent as you think,” said Ekon mulishly. “I trained in this temple, same as you.”

Kamau looked pained. “It’s not that, it’s . . .” His words trailed off, and Ekon jutted his chin.

“Tell me.”

Kamau shot a furtive look over his shoulder. “You can speak to no one of this.”

Ekon nodded.

“You can’t go after the Shetani because a hunting party is being assembled to do the exact same thing as we speak,” said Kamau in a rush.

Ekon drew a sharp breath. “A hunting—?”

“Shh!”

He closed his mouth but repeated his brother’s words in his head. A hunting party. For the first time in a decade, Father Olufemi was going to select warriors to go into the Greater Jungle in search of the Shetani. To be chosen for it would be an unmatched privilege, the highest distinction, an honor.

“Who’s been asked to join?” It was the first question that came to him.

“I don’t know all the names yet,” said Kamau. “Father Olufemi is still making his selections. He wants to make sure there’s a good balance of novice and experienced warriors in case . . .”

In case none of them make it back, Ekon finished the unspoken words. He nodded to his brother. “Are you going?” He didn’t bother to ask if he was one of the ones selected.

Kamau looked uncomfortable. “I haven’t decided.”

“The meeting you just left, that’s what it was about, wasn’t it?”

Kamau didn’t speak, but his eyes held the answer. “If you go into the Greater Jungle looking for the Shetani, you need to understand that you won’t just be contending with what’s already in there. The Sons of the Six will be hunting too, the Yaba way.”

Ekon swallowed. He knew the rules of the Yabahari, his people’s traditional way of hunting. No mercy. The warriors going into that jungle would be looking out only for themselves, and anyone else would be treated like the enemy. He would be treated like the enemy.

“I know the way a Son of the Six hunts,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “Which means I know how to avoid them too. If I just stay out of—”

“Ekon, listen to me.” Kamau’s voice had changed. He sounded like a true warrior now, more stoic and serious. “This is not a game. The Sons of the Six and the Shetani are each bad enough on their own, but then there’s the Greater Jungle itself. You’ve never even been in it before.”

Ekon chose not to mention that, technically, that wasn’t true.

“Hunting for the Shetani in there won’t be like the training you’ve done here in the city,” Kamau continued. “If you make a mistake out on the sparring lawns, it costs you the match. But if you make a mistake in that jungle . . .” He paused. “It may cost you your very life.”

“A price I’m willing to pay.” Ekon drew himself up to his full height. Growing up, Kamau had always been slightly taller than him, but in the last year, he’d finally had a growth spurt. They were mirrors of each other now, two identical pairs of dark eyes level with each other. “You said so yourself just last night: I’m an Okojo. I was born to be a warrior. It’s in my blood, same as it’s in yours. It’s in our roots. Kutoka mzizi, remember?”

Kamau shook his head. “Ekon—”

“Faith and fortitude.” Ekon stepped forward. “Last night, Father Olufemi said a true Son of the Six has faith and fortitude. Killing the Shetani would prove I have both.”

Kamau’s expression hardened. “I might remind you that I am honor-bound to report information like this to Father Olufemi, and to the brothers of the temple.”

“Kam.” Ekon’s voice was barely a whisper. “Please.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the plea itself or perhaps the way he said it, but slowly Ekon watched something in Kamau’s expression waver. It was minimal, a single crack in an invisible armor, but it was enough. Like that, Kamau wasn’t a kapteni anymore, he wasn’t even a warrior; he was just an older brother. He wasn’t “Warrior Okojo,” he was Kam, the boy who’d once snuck with Ekon from the temple’s dormitories down to the kitchens for late-night feasts of red grapes and mango juice. He was the Kam who’d first taught Ekon how to properly hold a hanjari, and who’d patiently drilled with him for days until he got it right. He was the boy who intimately knew what it had been like to lose two parents, because he’d lost them too. And he was Kam, the brother who’d never betray him.

“I won’t tell Father Olufemi,” Kamau said. “Unless he explicitly asks me. If he does, you need to know I will have no choice but to answer truthfully.”

Ekon nodded. His brother had sworn a holy oath of fealty; this half promise was the very best he could offer him as an anointed warrior. Even then, he knew Kamau could lose his position as a kapteni for keeping this secret at all. “Thank you.”

Kamau put a hand on his shoulder. “Gather your supplies quickly, and get going as soon as you can,” he instructed. There was a fervor in the command. “Father Olufemi will probably need a few more days to organize the hunting party, and you need to stay ahead of us. Keep off the more obvious paths, but don’t go completely off trail or you’ll end up lost. Also, try not to leave tracks.” He gave Ekon a meaningful look. “Or anything else that would allow you to be followed.”

Ekon nodded. “I won’t.”

“Remember what you know from your training, be resourceful.”

“I will.”

Kamau nodded. “You also need to understand that, once you go, you’ll be absent without leave, subject to punishment—”

“Father Olufemi won’t punish me,” said Ekon quickly. “Not when I bring him what he wants, that thing’s head.”

Kamau offered a half smile before his expression grew more solemn. “Promise me one thing, Ekkie.” Abruptly his tone changed. “Promise me that, whatever you do, you won’t let trying to find that thing be more important than your life. I can’t . . .” He glanced at his feet. “I can’t lose you too. You’re all I’ve got left.”

Ekon held his brother’s gaze, ignoring the tightness in his chest. Never in his entire life had he lied to Kamau. He would have to now.

“I promise,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few weeks, maybe less.”

Kamau nodded.

“I’m going to do it, Kam,” said Ekon. “I’m going to find that monster, I’m going to kill it, and I’m going to avenge Baba.” And I will earn my place in the Sons of the Six, he promised himself. If it’s the last thing I do.

The Shetani had stolen his destiny. Now Ekon would steal it back.