Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,131

a ripple breaks through the crowd.

Though the movement starts out small, in seconds waves of people split. They clear a path, allowing one person to walk through. Her small body steps forward. Her white mane dances.

“Zu…,” I breathe, fighting the urge to run and pull her back into the crowd.

She stands tall and strong, defiant beyond her young years. Her emerald-green kaftan blows in the wind, shimmering against her brown skin.

Though she is only thirteen, the entire legion readies their arms. Archers pull back against their bows. Swordsmen position the reins of their panthenaires.

“I don’t know which girl you speak of,” Zu shouts, her voice carried by the wind. “But I can assure you we don’t have the scroll. This is a peaceful celebration. We only gathered here to honor our heritage.”

The silence that follows is almost deafening. It brings a tremble to my hands I can’t fight back.

“Please—” Zu steps forward.

“Don’t move!” the commander shouts back, pulling out his sword.

“Search us if you must,” Zu responds. “We will agree to an examination. But please, lower your weapons.” She raises her hands in surrender. “I don’t want anyone to get hur—”

It happens so fast. Too fast.

One moment Zu stands.

The next, an arrow pierces through her gut.

“Zu!” I scream.

But it doesn’t sound like me.

I can’t hear my voice. I can’t feel anything.

Air dies inside my chest as Zu looks down, small hands gripping the arrow’s shaft.

The young girl with a smile too wide for her face pulls against the weapon, speared with Orïsha’s hate.

She strains, limbs shaking, somehow taking a step forward. Not back where we can protect her.

Forward, so she can protect us.

No …

Tears sear my vision, falling fast down my face. A Healer. A child.

Yet her last moments are stained with hate.

Blood spreads across the silk of her kaftan. The emerald darkens with red.

Her legs buckle and she hits the ground.

“Zu!” I race forward even though I know she can’t be saved.

In that moment the entire world explodes.

Arrows fly and swords flash as the guards unleash their attack.

“Zél, come on!” Inan yanks on my arm, pulling me back. But as he tries to steer me away, one thought fills my mind. Oh gods.

Tzain.

Before Inan can object, I take off, stumbling more than once as I return to the valley. Screams of terror fill the night. Divîners run in all directions.

We sprint in vain, trying desperately to escape the archers striking from the sky. One by one divîners go down, pierced by an onslaught of arrows that never seems to end.

But the archers become a fear of the past as the suited seal of Orïsha spreads through the masses. Soldiers release the rabid panthenaires, allowing the ryders to sink their fangs straight through divîner flesh. Above them, armored guards push through the crowd, swords raised and sharpened. They show no mercy, no discretion, slashing through everyone in their path.

“Tzain!” I scream, another voice in the chorus of shouts. He can’t die like Mama. He can’t leave me and Baba.

But the farther I run, the more bodies fall to the ground, the more spirits bleed into the earth. Lost in the crowd, Salim howls, sharp screams rising above every other cry.

“Salim!” I scream, charging for the sweet boy I spun in my arms. A guard rides toward him on a rabid panthenaire. Salim raises his hands in surrender.

He has no magic. No weapon. No way to fight.

The guard doesn’t care.

His sword slashes down.

“No!” I scream, insides aching at the sight. The blade rips straight through Salim’s small body.

He dies before he even hits the ground.

His dead eyes chill my blood. My heart. My bones.

We cannot win. We cannot live. We never stood a chan—

The sensation strikes me in my core, deep, as powerful as my beating heart.

It rattles the magic in my blood. It pulls the air from my lungs.

Kwame brushes past me, running for the heart of the battle. He grips a dagger tight in his hands.

Then he slashes open his palm.

Blood magic.

Horror settles into my bones.

It’s like the world slows to a stop, stretching the seconds between this moment and the last Kwame will ever have. His blood glows with a white light, splashing as it hits the ground.

In an instant the ivory light surrounds him, illuminating his dark skin like a god from above.

When it reaches the top of his head, it seals his fate.

A fire explodes from his skin.

Smoldering embers rain from his body. Flames blaze around his form. The fire erupts from every limb, shooting out