Page 7 of Children of Blood and Bone

“I’m sorry.” I pick at the beads along the cup to avoid looking up. “I know… I know I don’t make things easy for you.”

Like Yemi, Mama Agba is a kosidán, an Orïshan who doesn’t have the potential to do magic. Before the Raid we believed the gods chose who was born a divîner and who wasn’t, but now that magic’s gone, I don’t understand why the distinction matters.

Free of the white hair of divîners, Mama Agba could blend in with the other Orïshans, avoid the guards’ torture. If she didn’t associate with us, the guards might not bother her at all.

Part of me wishes she would abandon us, spare herself the pain.With her tailoring skills, she could probably become a merchant, get her fair share of coin instead of having them all ripped away.

“You’re starting to look more like her, did you know that?” Mama Agba takes a small sip of her tea and smiles. “The resemblance is frightening when you yell. You inherited her rage.”

My mouth falls open; Mama Agba doesn’t like to talk of those we’ve lost.

Few of us do.

I hide my surprise with another taste of tea and nod. “I know.”

I don’t remember when it happened, but the shift in Baba was undeniable. He stopped meeting my eyes, unable to look at me without seeing the face of his murdered wife.

“That’s good.” Mama Agba’s smile falters into a frown. “You were just a child during the Raid. I worried you’d forget.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.” Not when Mama had a face like the sun.

It’s that face I try to remember.

Not the corpse with blood trickling down her neck.

“I know you fight for her.” Mama Agba runs her hand through my white hair. “But the king is ruthless, Zélie. He would sooner have the entire kingdom slaughtered than tolerate divîner dissent. When your opponent has no honor, you must fight in different ways, smarter ways.”

“Does one of those ways include smacking those bastards with my staff?”

Mama Agba chuckles, skin crinkling around her mahogany eyes. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. Promise you’ll choose the right moment to fight.”

I grab Mama Agba’s hands and bow my head, diving deep to show my respect. “I promise, Mama. I won’t let you down again.”

“Good, because I have something and I don’t want to regret showing it to you.”

Mama Agba reaches into her kaftan and pulls out a sleek black rod. She gives it a sharp flick. I jump back as the rod expands into a gleaming metal staff.

“Oh my gods,” I breathe out, fighting the urge to clutch the masterpiece. Ancient symbols coat every meter of the black metal, each carving reminiscent of a lesson Mama Agba once taught. Like a bee to honey, my eyes find theakofenafirst, the crossed blades, the swords of war.Strength cannot always roar, she said that day.Valor does not always shine.My eyes drift to theakomabeside the swords next, the heart of patience and tolerance. On that day… I’m almost positive I got a beating that day.

Each symbol takes me back to another lesson, another story, another wisdom. I look at Mama, waiting. Is this a gift or what she’ll use to beat me?

“Here.” She places the smooth metal in my hand. Immediately, I sense its power. Iron-lined… weighted to crack skulls.

“Is this really happening?”

Mama nods. “You fought like a warrior today. You deserve to graduate.”

I rise to twirl the staff and marvel at its strength. The metal cuts through the air like a knife, more lethal than any oak staff I’ve ever carved.

“Do you remember what I told you when we first started training?”

I nod and mimic Mama Agba’s tired voice. “‘If you’re going to pick fights with the guards, you better learn how to win.’”

Though she slaps me over the head, her hearty laughter echoes against the reed walls. I hand her the staff and she rams it into the ground; the weapon collapses back into a metal rod.

“You know how to win,” she says. “Just make sure you know when to fight.”

Pride and honor and pain swirl in my chest when Mama Agba placesthe staff back into my palm. Not trusting myself to speak, I wrap my hands around her waist and inhale the familiar smell of freshly washed fabric and sweet tea.

---