Ekon watched the writhing bodies of six black mambas tangle in their basket, each one of their eyes locked on him in waiting.
He moved without warning, snatching his scrap of parchment from them so fast that he didn’t have time to feel anything. They hissed but did not strike him.
Sweat slicked his palm as he unfurled his fist and handed that scrap to Father Olufemi without looking at it. He didn’t need to, because he already knew what it said. The old man glanced down at the paper a moment, then nodded.
“Well done.”
They were alone in the chamber, the same chamber he’d once stood in with his co-candidates. The quiet was unsettling, but Ekon didn’t think about that either. He locked gazes with Father Olufemi for a moment, before the latter pointed to the ground.
“Kneel.”
Ekon obeyed, ignoring the sudden cold of the room’s stone tiles as he pressed one knee to them and bowed his head. It seemed to take years for the Kuhani to speak again.
“Ekon Asafa Okojo, son of Asafa Lethabo Okojo and Ayesha Ndidi Okojo.”
Ekon looked up and found Father Olufemi staring down at him, eyes intent.
“You have demonstrated a true act of valor, and in doing so exhibited a righteousness, dedication, and loyalty far exceeding your years,” he murmured. “You have honored your people, your family, and your gods.”
Ekon bowed his head again. He still remembered the way Father Olufemi had looked at him inside the Night Zoo as he’d pronounced that Ekon would never be a Yaba warrior. So much had changed.
“Candidate Okojo.”
Father Olufemi’s words dragged Ekon back to the present as the holy man placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you swear to uphold the tenets so bestowed upon the warriors of our people?”
Ekon nodded. “I do.”
“Do you swear, for the rest of your days, to act with honor, courage, and integrity?”
“I do.” In the back of his mind, he saw a girl’s face, and his stomach twisted slightly.
“Look at me, Candidate Okojo.”
Slowly, Ekon’s eyes met Father Olufemi’s. A small pang hit somewhere low in his gut as he reflected on how different those harsh eyes were from Brother Ugo’s.
“Do you swear to always obey the Six and those through whom they speak, without hesitation?”
Ekon swallowed again before he answered, and prayed his voice was loud enough. “Yes, Father. I do.”
“Then, in the name of the Six true gods, I anoint you.”
At his side, Ekon’s fingers tapped.
One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.
“You are now a holy warrior, and a man of the Yabahari people,” Father Olufemi declared. “Rise, warrior.”
Ekon stood. He waited for the moment to hit him. He knew this was the moment he should have felt something. He’d dreamed of being a Yaba warrior since he was a child, for over a decade. This was the moment he should have felt the thrum of power coursing through him, the same thrum he’d felt the night he’d first attempted his final rite of passage. He should have been terrified, or excited, or both. Instead, he felt like he’d drunk bad well water.
Father Olufemi crossed the room to the door; the minute he did, a group of warriors rushed in. Sons of the Six were supposed to exhibit a constant decorum in the Temple of Lkossa, but they abandoned it as they swarmed him. The warriors roared their approval, stomping their feet and pounding the shafts of their longspears hard against the hallowed stone in triumph. Someone slapped him on the back, and another hand pressed something soft into his hands. When he looked down, Ekon saw that it was a sky-blue kaftan, embroidered in gold and folded into a neat square. He could tell, even at a touch, that this fabric was finely made, no doubt tailored by the city’s best. No expense was spared for a Son of the Six. It was real now.
“Well, are you going to put it on?”
Ekon looked over the heads of the other warriors and found Kamau. In all his life, he’d never seen his brother look so proud. Kamau wasn’t just smiling, he was beaming, a light all his own. A warmth emanated from him that Ekon swore he could almost feel, even feet away. He’s proud of you, he slowly realized. You’ve finally made him truly proud. That epiphany should have flooded Ekon with happiness. He waited for that joy, for the relief. Neither came.
“You know . . .” A touch of merriment twinkled in Kamau’s eyes. “If you don’t want to wear it, I’ll happily take—”
“Warrior Okojo, you will change into the attire befitting your new station,” said Father Olufemi, nodding to Ekon. “When you are done, please make your way to the temple’s worship hall.”
Ekon nodded, grateful for an excuse to leave. He exhaled as soon as he left the room, as soon as he found a small room where he could change into his new clothes. He’d always admired the warrior blue on Kamau, even more so on Baba. As a boy, he’d imagined the day he’d wear it too.
He hadn’t imagined it like this.
“Just nerves,” he muttered to himself as he changed from his old kaftan to his new one. He cringed as the fabric slid over his head. This kaftan was sewn by the best tailors in Lkossa, made with the highest quality cotton, but . . . it felt wrong. It was slick against his skin like the scales of a snake, too cold. He swallowed, easing the nausea down his throat, and his fingers danced against his side.
It had been a full day since he and the other Yaba warriors had emerged from the Greater Jungle, covered in dirt and brambles and debris. The memories of that moment were like an unfinished quilt, patched together with careless thread and always threatening to unravel. He remembered the cheers of the Sons of the Six all around him, whooping and tossing their spears high as the first hints of true, unfiltered sunlight began to dapple the ground before them. There’d been a sudden onslaught of light, and then a roar had torn through the air. It had taken Ekon a moment to register that the sound was no animal, but people, hundreds of them, standing in the borderlands and cheering their approval.
Cheering for you, he’d gradually realized. They’re celebrating you.
The rest of that day had been more difficult to remember. He knew—somehow—he’d gotten to the temple eventually. He’d bathed, changed into fresh clothes, and even shaved for good measure. By the time he’d gone outside again, the line of people waiting to see him stretched from the temple’s front doors all the way down to the Takatifu District’s golden-arched entrance. The Yaba warriors hadn’t even been able to enforce the usual dress code; people from all over the city had gathered to lay eyes on him, to touch him. The elderly had bowed their heads in quiet respect; children had come bearing wreaths of laurels and flowers to lay at his feet. Vendors from all over the city had come offering pottery, and jewels, and food from their shops. They’d treated him like a god. Over and over, they’d said the same words.
Have made your family proud.
Just like his father . . .
A true hero.
It had been overwhelming, a dream come true. All Ekon had ever wanted was the respect and approval of his people; he’d gotten it tenfold. But the joy had been short-lived. It hadn’t taken long for a nasty feeling to curdle in his belly, and a day later, it had continued to linger. He knew, somewhere in this temple, there was a beast locked away. The sickness inside him grew, and at once, a whole slew of thoughts he’d been repressing sprang free. He remembered the warriors circling them in the jungle, jeering and whooping. He remembered the ropes tangling around Adiah like hemp serpents, twisting and knotting until she’d been brought low. Worst of all, he remembered the anger and shock on Koffi’s face when she’d understood the totality of his betrayal. Her eyes staring into his with that confusion, that hurt, cut into him like a blade.
“Warrior Okojo?” Someone was knocking at the door. Ekon recognized Father Olufemi’s voice. “Are you ready?”
Ekon jumped to attention. It still felt strange to hear that honorific. “Yes, Father.” He opened the door and followed the holy man down the hall; notably, the other Sons of the Six were gone. Ekon had started to ask where they were when Father Olufemi opened a door and he was suddenly cast into a flood of golden light and noise. It was so bright, Ekon had to cover his eyes for a moment. When they settled, he saw the temple’s worship hall had been transformed.
The usually conservative room was festooned with sashes and streamers of blue, green, and gold, and several tables were filled to the brim with food. It was a feast. Upon realizing the guest of honor had arrived, the waiting crowd cheered. It looked like every important Yaba family was here.
“What?” Ekon stopped short. “What’s this?”
Father Olufemi was already stepping away, smiling, and in his place, several warriors came forward.
“A feast!” Fahim threw an arm around his neck and steered him into the room as more people cheered. “In celebration of the Shetani’s capture!”
Ekon felt nauseated. This room was filled with Lkossa’s elites, people dressed in their finest. They thought the thing that had menaced the city for years had been captured, that all would be well from hereon. He swallowed.
“This is too much,” he said.
“Move.” Shomari shoved past them none too gently, holding a goblet of wine. Judging by the way the wine sloshed, it wasn’t his first. He passed without looking at them.
“What’s his problem?” Ekon asked.
Fahim raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “He’s jealous, Ekon. A lot of people are. What you just did . . . it’ll probably never be topped.”
Jealous. That word sounded strange. Not so long ago, Ekon had been jealous of Fahim and Shomari, wanted so badly to have what they did. Now things were reversed, another change.
“I don’t want this,” he said, shaking his head.
“Look, Ekon.” Fahim’s eyes weren’t on him anymore, but instead focused on a group of well-dressed Yaba girls. They were staring back, giggling behind their hands. “I know you prefer books over a bottle of wine, but trust me, this is definitely a night to enjoy the finer things. And speaking of finer things.” He gave the girls another meaningful look. “I think a few of our guests look lonely . . .”
Ekon watched Fahim cross the room to join the giggling young women. It was a cruel kind of contrast, seeing everyone so happy. All around him people were feasting and celebrating because they thought they were finally safe, but he knew better. His mind recounted the things he’d learned in the Greater Jungle. Adiah may have been captured, but she wasn’t the one responsible for the attacks; something else was, something that was still out there, perhaps even at this moment.
Tell them, a voice in his mind implored. Tell them the truth.
He couldn’t, not now, not after all of this. If these people learned that there was still another monster out there—something worse than the Shetani—he wouldn’t just be expelled from the Sons of the Six, he’d be rejected by his people.
He couldn’t stomach that.
Ekon’s eyes shot across the worship hall and focused on two people huddled in one of its corners. Their heads were slightly bent as they whispered to each other; one was wearing a sky-blue kaftan, the other a deep blue agbada. Kamau and Father Olufemi. His mind was made up even before he reached them. He had to talk to one or both, and tell them that something else was out there. It wouldn’t be the complete truth, but it would be something. By the time he’d reached them, they were already moving apart. Father Olufemi gave him a kind smile before turning on his heels to head up the stairs to his office. Kamau extended a hand.
“Congratulations, Warrior.”
“Thank you . . . uh, Kapteni.” It felt odd, using the formal term for his own brother. He cleared his throat. “I was actually wondering if you had a minute, to talk?”
“Ah . . .” Kamau’s eyes were on the stairs, following Father Olufemi. “This isn’t really the best time. I have some business to attend to.”
A twinge of annoyance crept up Ekon’s body when Kamau tried to move around him, but he mirrored his footsteps and blocked him. “Kam. It’s important.”
For the first time, Kamau met his gaze directly, and Ekon was surprised to see clear irritation in his brother’s eyes. “What is it, then? What’s wrong?”
Ekon faltered, hating himself for it. He and his older brother were the same height, equal matches by all societal standards now, but Kamau still had a way of looking at him that could make him feel so small. “I—I want to talk to you about Brother Ugo.”
Kamau’s brows rose. “What about him?”
Ekon gestured around the hall for emphasis. “I was wondering why he’s not here. Surely, as a Brother of the Order, he’d attend a feast like this?”
Kamau frowned. “I told you yesterday that Brother Ugo has been in isolation, praying.”
“Praying, at a time like this?” Ekon frowned.
“He’s a reverent man.”
“The Shetani, the creature our people have hunted for nearly a century, has been captured, and he goes to pray?” Ekon asked. “Doesn’t that seem strange to—”
“Brother Ugo has been briefed on the matter of the Shetani.” Kamau’s voice was suddenly uncharacteristically crisp and official. “If he leaves his isolation, I will let you know, but until then, I have other matters to attend to.” He gestured to the hall. “In the meantime, try to enjoy yourself, okay?”
Ekon didn’t have a chance to say anything else. In a graceful swivel, Kamau moved around him and headed up the stairs. Ekon watched him go, perturbed, before he made the decision. What prompted it was inexplicable, but he followed. As he’d expected, the landing was pitch-black by the time he reached it, save for a single wedge of yellow light coming from the Kuhani’s study. That light tugged at Ekon; it beckoned him. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until his lungs began to ache in protest. He was within a foot of the slightly cracked door when the voices from within floated to him. He stilled.
“Father, please.”
A chill brushed Ekon’s skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Never in all his life had he heard his brother like that. Kamau’s voice, strong and confident moments ago, was now thin with fatigue, desperation, and . . . and there was something else, a hint of an emotion it took Ekon a moment to recognize. Fear. Through the crack in the door, Ekon discerned two profiles. Kamau and Father Olufemi. The former was on his knees; the latter was sitting on a beautiful chaise, his hands folded carefully in his lap.
“Speak plainly, Warrior Okojo.” Father Olufemi’s words were calm, as though they were discussing the weather. “What troubles you?”
“It’s . . . it’s my head, Father.” Kamau looked up to meet Father Olufemi’s gaze, and Ekon saw his lower lip was trembling. “I’m . . . I’m seeing things, getting confused. The nightmares . . .”
“Nightmares?” Father Olufemi’s eyebrow rose, curious. “What kind of nightmares?”
Kamau dropped his gaze, fidgeting like a small child. “I don’t understand them, Father. Sometimes they feel like dreams, but other times the people feel real, and . . . I hurt them. I see the blood and want to stop, but . . . I can’t.” Fat tears rolled down Kamau’s face. “There are other Sons saying the same thing, Father. They’re having the nightmares too. Father, we don’t know what’s happening to us—”
“Shh.” Father Olufemi leaned forward, cupping Kamau’s cheek like an indulgent father. At his touch, Kamau stilled. “Say no more, my child. Everything will be all right soon. Would you like some medicine?”
“I . . .” Kamau hesitated, drawing back from the Kuhani’s hand. “I don’t know if I should.”
“Nonsense.” There was a gentleness in Father Olufemi’s tone. He turned slightly, and for the first time Ekon noticed the object sitting on the chaise beside him. It was a small, dark wooden pipe no larger than his hand. Though it was difficult to see from far away, he made out something glittering and silver packed into its small chamber, bits of what looked like crushed leaf. It took Ekon a moment to remember why that color seemed familiar. Then he remembered.
Hasira leaf.
Slowly, Father Olufemi lifted a lit candle from one of the tables beside him and held it to the pipe until it began to smoke. At once, a sickly sweet aroma tanged the air. Ekon tensed. He realized he recognized that scent. Father Olufemi handed the lit pipe to Kamau and nodded.
“Inhale.”
Despite his previous protest, Kamau took the pipe from him eagerly, taking a long, practiced draw. Ekon stared, transfixed, as a violent shudder passed through his brother’s muscled frame, and then he relaxed. When he looked up from the pipe, his eyes had gone glassy, pupils dilated. Father Olufemi touched his cheek again, and this time Kamau leaned into his palm like a lover.
“I know I have asked a great deal of you, Kamau,” Father Olufemi murmured softly. “I know that, at times, my orders have been challenging. But it will all be over soon. Once the Shetani is dead, you and your brothers will not have to kill anyone else.”
White-hot shock seared through Ekon’s body. He waited for the vague, empty look to leave Kamau’s face as Father Olufemi’s words sank in. He waited for the disgust to show somewhere in his brother’s eyes. It did not.
Father Olufemi touched the candle to the pipe again and nodded. “Have some more.”
Kamau took the pipe again and inhaled, a small moan escaping him as another hit of the hallucinogenic leaf flooded through him. Father Olufemi looked on, amused.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel . . . good.”
Father Olufemi nodded. “And you will continue to, so long as you remain obedient. Listen to me, boy.” He crooked his finger under Kamau’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “These are my orders: You will not speak of your nightmares to anyone else, and you will instruct your brothers to do the same. Do you understand?”
“I . . . understand.” Kamau nodded, then gave Father Olufemi a sheepish look. “Father, can I . . . can I have more medicine?”
Father Olufemi’s chuckle was mirthless as he lit the pipe a final time and handed it to Kamau. “Of course, my child. Of course.”
Ekon didn’t know when he’d stood and backed away from the door, his heart thundering in his chest. Father Olufemi’s words reverberated against the walls of his mind.
You and your brothers will not have to kill anyone else.
Ribbons of memory returned to him, malformed. He remembered the last attack, the bodies that had littered the ground, and then . . . a conversation with Kamau.
I . . . asked where you were last night.
Father Olufemi had some work for me to do, confidential.
Ekon shuddered. There was no other monster, there never had been.
He moved away from the door slowly, praying Father Olufemi wouldn’t look up. The last thing he saw as he retreated into the darkness was Kamau taking a final draw from the pipe, lost to a madness Ekon did not know.