Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,8
launches into action. I scream as he dives into the water, cutting through the waves with the power of a dual-finned shark.
Tzain swims with a frenzy I’ve never seen. Within moments he overtakes the boats. Seconds later he reaches the area where Baba went under and dives down.
Come on. My chest tightens so much I swear I feel my ribs crack. But when Tzain reemerges, his hands are empty. No body.
No Baba.
Panting, Tzain dives again, kicking harder this time. The seconds without him stretch into an eternity. Oh my gods …
I could lose them both.
“Come on,” I whisper again as I stare at the waves where Tzain and Baba have disappeared. “Come back.”
I’ve whispered these words before.
As a kid, I once watched Baba haul Tzain from the depths of a lake, ripping him from the seaweed that had trapped him underwater. He pumped on his fragile chest, but when Baba failed to make him breathe, it was Mama and her magic who saved him. She risked everything, violating maji law to call on the forbidden powers in her blood. She wove her incantations into Tzain like a thread, pulling him back to life with the magic of the dead.
I wish Mama was alive every day, but never more than this moment. I wish the magic that coursed through her body ran through mine.
I wish I could keep Tzain and Baba alive.
“Please.” Despite everything I believe, I close my eyes and pray, just like I did that day. If even one god is still up there, I need her to hear me now.
“Please!” Tears leak through my lashes. Hope shrivels inside my chest. “Bring them back. Please, Oya, don’t take them, too—”
“Ugh!”
My eyes snap open as Tzain bursts out of the ocean, one arm around Baba’s chest. A liter of water seems to escape Baba’s throat as he coughs, but he’s here.
He’s alive.
I fall to my knees, nearly collapsing on the wooden walkway.
My gods …
It’s not even midday, and I’ve already risked two lives.
* * *
SIX MINUTES.
That’s how long Baba thrashed out at sea.
How long he fought against the current, how long his lungs ached for air.
As we sit in the silence of our empty ahéré, I can’t get that number out of my head. The way Baba shivers, I’m convinced those six minutes took ten years off his life.
This shouldn’t have happened. It’s too early to have ruined the entire day. I should be outside cleaning the morning’s haul with Baba. Tzain should be returning from agbön practice to help.
Instead Tzain watches Baba, arms crossed, too enraged to throw a glance my way. Right now my only friend is Nailah, the faithful lionaire I’ve raised since she was a wounded cub. No longer a baby, my ryder towers over me, reaching Tzain’s neck on all fours. Two jagged horns protrude behind her ears, dangerously close to puncturing our reed walls. I reach up and Nailah instinctively brings her giant head down, careful to maneuver the fangs curved over her jaw. She purrs as I scratch her snout. At least someone’s not angry with me.
“What happened, Baba?”
Tzain’s gruff voice cuts through the silence. We wait for an answer, but Baba’s expression stays blank. He gazes at the floor with an emptiness that makes my heart ache.
“Baba?” Tzain bends down to meet his eyes. “Do you remember what happened?”
Baba pulls his blanket tighter. “I had to fish.”
“But you’re not supposed to go alone!” I exclaim.
Baba winces and Tzain glares at me, forcing me to soften my tone. “Your blackouts are only getting worse,” I try again. “Why couldn’t you just wait for me to come home?”
“I didn’t have time.” Baba shakes his head. “The guards came. Said I had to pay.”
“What?” Tzain’s brows knit together. “Why? I paid them last week.”
“It’s a divîner tax.” I grip the draped fabric of my pants, still haunted by the guard’s touch. “They came for Mama Agba, too. Probably hitting every divîner home in Ilorin.”
Tzain presses his fists to his forehead as if he could smash through his own skull. He wants to believe that playing by the monarchy’s rules will keep us safe, but nothing can protect us when those rules are rooted in hate.
The same guilt from earlier resurfaces, squeezing until it sinks into my chest. If I wasn’t a divîner, they wouldn’t suffer. If Mama hadn’t been a maji, she’d still be alive today.
I dig my fingers through my hair, accidentally ripping a few strands from my scalp. Part of me considers cutting