Page 61 of Children of Blood and Bone

The cascade of light that escaped Binta’s palm fills my mind, more beautiful than the sun’s own rays. Where would I be now if Father hadallowed Binta to live? What would all of Orïsha look like if he had just given these maji a chance?

Shame beats down on me, making me want to crawl into myself as the man raises his arms again.

I squeeze my eyes shut in preparation for pain—

The ropes vanish into thin air; our belongings reappear by our sides.

I’m still stunned by the magic when the mysterious man walks away, leaning on his staff. As we rise, he utters a simple command.

“Follow me.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ZÉLIE

WATER DRIPS DOWNthe carved walls as we travel deep into the heart of the mountain, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of our guide’s staff. Golden candles line the jagged stone, illuminating the darkness with their soft blaze. As my feet pass over the cool rock, I stare at the man, still unable to believe a sêntaro stands before my very eyes. Before the Raid, only the leaders of the ten maji clans ever got to meet them in this life. Mama Agba’ll fall out of her seat when I tell her about this.

I nudge Amari aside to step closer to the sêntaro, inspecting the marks inked onto the man’s neck. They ripple along his skin with every step, dancing with the shadows of the flame.

“They are called sênbaría,” the man answers, somehow sensing my gaze. “The language of the gods, as old as time itself.”

So that’s what it looks like.I lean forward to study the symbols that would one day become the spoken language of Yoruba, giving us the tongue to cast our magic.

“They’re beautiful,” I respond.

The man nods. “The things Sky Mother creates always are.”

Amari opens her mouth but shuts it quickly, as if thinking better ofit. Something bristles inside me as she walks, gaping at things that only the most powerful maji in history have a right to see.

She clears her throat and appears to dig deep, finding her voice once again. “Pardon me,” she asks. “But do you have a name?”

The sêntaro turns around and wrinkles his nose. “Everyone has a name, child.”

“Oh, I did not mean—”

“Lekan,” he cuts her off. “Olamilekan.”

The syllables tickle the furthest corners of my brain. “Olamilekan,” I repeat. “My wealth… is increased?”

Lekan turns to me with a gaze so steady I’m convinced he sees into my soul. “You remember our tongue?”

“Bits and pieces.” I nod. “My mother taught it to me when I was young.”

“Your mother was a Reaper?”

My mouth falls open in surprise. You can’t identify a maji’s powers on sight alone.

“How did you know?” I ask.

“I can sense it,” Lekan answers. “Reaper blood runs thick through your veins.”

“Can you sense magic in people who aren’t maji or divîners?” The question spills out of me, Inan coming to mind. “Is it possible for kosidán to have magic in their blood?”

“As sêntaros, we do not make that distinction. Everything is possible when it comes to the gods. All that matters is Sky Mother’s will.”

He turns, leaving me with more questions than answers. What part of Sky Mother’s will involves Inan’s hands wrapped around my throat?

I try to push thoughts of him away as we move. It feels like we’ve traveled a full kilometer through the tunnels before Lekan leads us intoa dark and wide dome hollowed out in the mountain. He raises his hands with the same gravitas as before, making the air buzz with spiritual energy.

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