Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,33

at bay.

If more maji were here, their gifts could stop this horror.

If we were trained and armed with incantations, the fire wouldn’t stand a chance.

A loud crack rings through the air. The wooden panels beneath my feet moan as I near the fishermen’s sector. I run for as long as the walkway holds before launching myself into the air.

Smoke sears my throat as I land on the teetering deck that supports my home. I can’t see through the blaze, but still I force myself to act.

“Baba!” I scream through my coughs, adding more cries to the chaos of the night. “Tzain!”

There’s not an ahéré in our sector that isn’t engulfed in flames, yet still I run forward, hoping mine won’t share the same fate.

The walkway wobbles beneath my feet and my lungs scream for air. I tumble to the ground before my home, burned from the heat radiating off the flames.

“Baba!” I shriek in horror, searching for any life in the blaze. “Tzain! Nailah!”

I scream till my throat rips raw, but no one answers my call. I can’t tell if they’re trapped inside.

I can’t see if they’re even alive.

I crawl to my feet and extend my rod, thrusting open our ahéré door. I’m about to run in when a hand clamps my shoulder, pulling me back with so much force I topple over.

Tears blur my vision. It’s difficult to make out the face of my assailant. But soon flickering flames illuminate copper skin. Amari.

“You can’t go in there!” she screams between her coughs. “It’s coming down!”

I shove Amari to the ground with half a mind to drown her in the sea. When she releases her grip, I crawl toward my ahéré.

“No!”

The reed walls we spent a full moon building collapse with a sharp crack. They burn through the walkway and into the sea, sinking to the bottom.

I wait for Tzain’s head to bob up from the waves, for Nailah to let out a roar of pain. But I only see blackness.

In one sweep, my family’s been wiped away.

“Zélie…”

Amari grips my shoulder again; my blood boils under her touch. I grab her arm and yank her forward, grief and rage fueling my strength.

I’ll kill you, I decide. If we die, you die, too.

Let your father feel this pain.

Let the king know unbearable loss.

“Don’t!” Amari screams as I drag her to the flames, but I can barely hear her over the blood pounding in my ears. When I look at her, I see her father’s face. Everything inside me twists with hate. “Please—”

“Zélie, stop!”

I release Amari and whip toward the open sea. Nailah paddles in the ocean water with Tzain on her back. Trailing behind him, Baba and Mama Agba sit safely inside a coconut boat attached to Nailah’s saddle. I’m so overwhelmed by the sight that it takes a moment to grasp that they’re actually alive.

“Tzain—”

The entire foundation of the fishermen’s sector slants. Before we can jump, it goes down, taking us with it. Ice-cold water engulfs our bodies in a rush, soothing the burns I’ve forgotten.

I allow myself to sink among the lumber and shattered homes. The darkness cleanses my pain, cooling the rage.

You can stay down here, a small thought whispers. You don’t have to continue this fight.…

I hold on to the words for a moment, grasping my only chance for escape. But when my lungs wheeze, I force my legs to kick, bringing me back to the broken world I know.

No matter how much I crave peace, the gods have other plans.

CHAPTER TEN

ZÉLIE

WE FLOAT TO a small inlet across from the northern coast in silence, unable to speak after such horror. Though the crashing waves grow loud, the memory of Bisi’s screams crashes even louder in my head.

Four deaths. Four people who couldn’t escape the flames.

I brought the fire to Ilorin.

Their blood stains my hands.

I grip my shoulders to keep everything inside as Mama Agba dresses our injuries with cloth ripped from her skirt. Though we made it through the flames, small burns and blisters dot our skin. But that pain is welcome; almost deserved. The sears on my skin are nothing compared to the guilt that scalds my heart.

A sharp pressure clamps my stomach as the memory of a burnt corpse crystallizes behind my eyes. Charred skin peeling from every limb, the stench of burning flesh still coloring my every breath.

They’re in a better place, I try to ease my guilt. If their spirits have ascended to the peace of alâfia, death would almost be a gift.