Page 26 of Children of Anguish and Anarchy

A smile spreads across my sister’s narrow face, but her forehead creases when she touches the shackles around my wrists. She attempts to find the right match, but the keys are too big.

“These won’t fit.…”

I brace myself to pull my wrists free, but Amari stops me.

“I’ll find a blade.” She leaves the key in the cage door. “I’ll cut you out! Just wait!”

“Be careful!” I call.

I watch, helpless, as Amari pushes herself through the water-filled hold. But heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs. Amari freezes as a bulky silhouette fills the doorframe.

A flicker of lightning illuminates the mighty Skull’s mask.

He looks between the two of us, glowing axe in hand.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ZÉLIE

IDON’T KNOW HOWlong 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 Orïsha. 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.

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