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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ZéLIE

I DON’T KNOW HOW long I stand there, staring at the Silver Skull’s corpse.

The room sways as his blood pools at my feet. His horrid mask falls to the floor.

My hands are like rocks around the neck of my staff. Its blade is still carved into the beast’s heart. Finally, I unclench my staff with a shuddered breath.

Everything hits at once.

Oya, help me.

My throat grows tight. The room starts to spin. My vision blurs white. It’s like the entire ship is collapsing in.

My hands fly to my sternum, and a sob I’ve fought so hard to cage breaks free. I feel myself collapse.

The battle has taken all of me.

I hit the marble floor with a thud. I itch to wash away the enemy’s touch. I snap my eyes shut, trying to force air into my lungs.

The golden medallion still pulses in my chest, a constant reminder of whatever I’ve become. A foreign force shakes through my arms, pouring through my bleeding palms.

I have to get out of here.

I try to fight through the noise. Through every wound. Through every ache. My brother is still trapped on this ship.

The other maji need my help to escape.

Despite how hard I push, I can’t summon any more strength. My legs won’t move. My arms only shake. I don’t know how I’ll go on, but then I see it.

The first glimpse of hope I’ve had since being locked up in chains.

Home…

I push myself onto my shaking elbows, trying to focus on the elusive sight. A mess of fallen parchments lies on the floor with overturned tables and fractured weapons; pools of mead and puddles of blood.

One scroll pulls my focus, calling out to me with its familiar lines. My bloodstained fingers close over the yellowed parchment. I can hardly believe the sight.

Thick black lines create the borders of my Or?sha. More strokes illustrate the western coast, with figures circling the port of Lagos. My eyes find Ilorin on the map, and I suck in a strangled breath.

Baba’s face breaks into my mind.

Baba…

At the thought of my father, sorrow leaks from the well inside. My memories come alive with the gentle tide that rang through the floating village of Ilorin at all times.

I feel the woven reeds that formed our ahéré. I hear the way Nailah, my lionaire, used to snore. I hold the map to my heart as if it were a doll. Despite all I’ve endured within its borders, seeing my motherland is like seeing a piece of my heart.

I push myself to my shaking feet as new life moves through my brutalized form. The sight of Or?sha fortifies my resolve. My lungs start to expand. Slowly, my full vision returns. I rip off my tattered rags and throw them to the bloodied floor.

I won’t let myself wither on this ship.

I won’t stop until my feet touch the soil of my homeland again.

Thunder rumbles from beyond the door. The sway of the ship grows with every passing second. I search the room until I find the Silver Skull’s wardrobe. I pull on a pair of his wool pants, cutting away the extra fabric and wrapping it tight around my waist and my chest.

I find two machetes on the floor, and my hands mold to their beaded hilts. I remember the images of Oya I saw when I was young. The machetes she’d wield as she rode into war.

“ Fún mi lágbára. ” I pray to my goddess again. Grant me strength.

The current of the storm buzzes beneath my skin. I feel its power deep within.

I remove my staff from the slain Silver Skull and strap it to my back.

I search the fallen captain’s pockets and find the hexagon-shaped compass that he used to separate me from the rest. I open it and catch my reflection in the glass face.

With the majacite crown on my head, I look like the princess of death.

I hook the compass to my belt and face the crimson door.

Rage rises in me like a volcano ready to erupt as I walk past the Silver Skull.