Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,7
And soon he’ll go after—
“Zélie!” Tzain shouts with an edge that indicates this isn’t his first attempt to grab my attention. “Why’d you leave him? It was your turn to stay!”
“Today was the graduation match! If I missed it—”
“Dammit, Zél!” Tzain’s roar makes the other villagers turn. “Are you serious? You left Baba for your stupid stick?”
“It’s not a stick, it’s a weapon,” I shoot back. “And I didn’t abandon him. Baba overslept. He needed to rest. And I’ve stayed every day this week—”
“Because I stayed every day last week!” Tzain leaps over a crawling child, muscles rippling when he lands. A kosidán girl smiles as he runs past, hoping a flirtatious wave will break his stride. Even now, villagers gravitate to Tzain like magnets finding their way home. I have no need to push others out of my way—one look at my white hair, and people avoid me like I’m an infectious plague.
“The Orïshan Games are only two moons away,” Tzain continues. “You know what winning that kind of coin could do for us? When I practice, you have to stay with Baba. What part of that’s so hard to understand? Dammit.”
Tzain skids to a stop before the floating market in the center of Ilorin. Surrounded by a rectangular walkway, the stretch of open sea swells with villagers haggling inside their round coconut boats. Before the daily trades begin, we can run across the night bridge to our home in the fishermen’s sector. But the market’s opened early and the bridge is nowhere to be seen. We’ll have to go the long way.
Ever the athlete, Tzain takes off, sprinting down the walkway surrounding the market to make it back to Baba. I begin to follow him but pause when I see the coconut boats.
Merchants and fishermen barter, trading fresh fruit for the best of that day’s catch. When times are good, the trades are kind—everyone accepts a little less to give others a little more. But today everyone bickers, demanding bronze and silver over promises and fish.
The taxes …
The wretched face of the guard fills my mind as the ghost of his grip burns my thigh. The memory of his glare propels me. I leap into the first boat.
“Zélie, watch out!” Kana cries, cradling her precious fruit. Our village gardener adjusts her headwrap and scowls as I hop onto a wooden barge teeming with blue moonfish.
“Sorry!”
I yell apology after apology, leaping from boat to boat like a red-nosed frogger. As soon as I land on the deck of the fishermen’s sector, I’m off, relishing the sensation of my feet pounding against the wooden planks. Though Tzain trails behind me, I keep going. I need to reach Baba first. If it’s bad, Tzain’ll need a warning.
If Baba’s dead …
The thought turns my legs to lead. He can’t be dead. It’s half past dawn; we need to load our boat and sail out to sea. By the time we lay out our nets, the prime catch will have passed. Who’ll scold me for that if Baba’s gone?
I picture the way he was before I left, passed out in the emptiness of our ahéré. Even asleep, he looked worn, like the longest slumber couldn’t grant him rest. I had hoped he wouldn’t wake until I returned, but I should’ve known better. In stillness, he has to deal with his pain, his regrets.
And me …
Me and my stupid mistakes.
The crowd gathered outside my ahéré makes me stumble to a halt. People block my view of the ocean, pointing and shouting at something I can’t see. Before I can push my way in, Tzain barrels through the crowd. As a path clears, my heart stops.
Almost half a kilometer out at sea, a man flails, his dark hands thrashing in desperation. Powerful waves ram against the poor soul’s head, drowning him with each impact. The man cries out for help, voice choked and weak. But it’s a voice I’d know anywhere.
The voice of my father.
Two fishermen row toward him, frantic as they paddle in their coconut boats. But the force of the waves pushes them back. They’ll never reach him in time.
“No,” I cry in horror as a current pulls Baba below the water. Though I wait for him to surface, nothing breaks through the vengeful waves. We’re too late.
Baba’s gone.
It hits me like a staff to the chest. To the head. To the heart.
In an instant the air vanishes from my world and I forget how to breathe.