Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,56
“What do we have to do?”
Lekan unrolls the scroll, interpreting its symbols and pictures. “On the centennial solstice, a sacred island appears off the northern coast of the Orinion Sea. It is home to the temple of our gods. We must take the scroll, the sunstone, and the bone dagger there and recite the ancient incantation on this scroll. If we complete the ritual, we can create new blood anchors and restore the connection, securing magic for another hundred years.”
“And every divîner will become a maji?” Amari asks.
“If you can complete the ritual before the solstice, every divîner who has reached the age of thirteen will transform.”
The centennial solstice, I repeat in my head, calculating how much time we have left. Mama Agba’s summer graduation always falls on the crescent moon, after the annual tigerfish harvest. If the solstice is upon us …
“Wait,” Tzain exclaims. “That’s less than one moon away!”
“What?” My heart seizes. “What happens if we miss it?”
“Miss it and Orïsha will never see magic again.”
My stomach drops like I’ve been pushed off the mountain. One moon? One moon or never again?
“But magic’s already coming back.” Tzain shakes his head. “It came with the scroll. If we can get it to all the divîners—”
“That will not work,” Lekan interrupts. “The scroll does not connect you to Sky Mother. It only ignites your connection to your sister deity. Without the ritual, the magic will not last beyond the solstice. Reestablishing the maji’s connection to Sky Mother is the only way.”
Tzain pulls out his map, and Lekan charts a course to where the sacred temple will appear. I pray the location is within reach, but Tzain’s eyes bulge in alarm.
“Wait,” Amari says as she raises her hands. “We have the scroll and the bone dagger, but where is the sunstone?” She eyes his robes expectantly, but no glowing stone comes forth.
“I have been tracking the stone from Warri since it first washed ashore. I was following a lead on it in Ibeji when my spirit called me back here. I have to assume it was so I could meet you.”
“So you don’t have it?” I ask.
Lekan shakes his head, and Tzain nearly explodes. “Then how are we supposed to do this? Travel alone will take a full moon!”
The answer becomes as stark as the paintings on the wall. The divîners will never become maji. Saran will always be in control.
“Can’t you help us?” Amari asks.
“I can aid you.” Lekan nods. “But I have limits. Only a woman can become our mamaláwo. I cannot perform the ritual.”
“But you have to do it,” Amari presses. “You are the only sêntaro left!”
“It does not work like that.” Lekan shakes his head. “Sêntaros are not like maji. Your connection to the gods is cemented in your blood. That connection to Sky Mother is what’s needed to complete the ritual.”
“Then who can do it?”
Lekan looks at me, heavy in his gaze. “A maji. One tethered to the gods.”
It takes a moment for Lekan’s words to hit; when they do I nearly laugh.
“If Sky Mother brought the scroll to you through a descendant of Saran’s blood, her will is clear.”
Her will is wrong, I almost shoot back. I can’t save the maji. I can barely save myself.
“Lekan, no.” My gut clenches the way it did when Amari first grabbed me in the market. “I’m not strong enough. I’ve never even performed an incantation. You said the scroll only connected me to Oya. I’m not connected to Sky Mother, either!”
“I can amend that.”
“Then amend yourself. Amend Tzain!” I push my brother forward. Even Amari would be a better candidate than me.
But Lekan grabs my hand and leads me forward, continuing through the dome. Before I can object, he cuts me off.
“The gods don’t make mistakes.”
* * *
BEADS OF SWEAT GATHER on my forehead as we climb another set of stone steps. We pass stair after stair, ascending toward the top of the mountain. With each step my mind twists and tumbles, reminding me of all the ways this can fail.
Maybe if we already had the sunstone …
If the royal guard wasn’t breathing down our backs …
If Lekan would just get someone else to do the stupid ritual …
My chest tightens, suffocating under the threat of failure. Baba’s crooked smile returns to my mind, the hope in his eyes. As long as we don’t have magic, they will never treat us with respect.
We need this ritual. It’s our only hope. Without it, we’ll never get power.