Page 72 of Children of Anguish and Anarchy

Roots create a vast dome around her. As I follow their path, the connection becomes clear—every single vine in the city originates from here.

Candles spread throughout the sacred space. New Gaians lay woven wreaths at the Mother Root’s feet. At Mae’e’s presence, her people clear the area, allowing the future hierophant to commune with the Mother Root in private.

I look up at the woven sculpture, thinking of all Mae’e’s shared. Mae’estands before the woman of vines. Candles flicker against her brown skin as she stares into the Mother Root’s eyes.

“She was born of the mountain.” Mae’e speaks softly. “The only time it ever erupted. A daughter of the earth, she broke free of the lava. Molten rock dripped from her blackened form. But she was born with the Sight.” Mae’e glances at me, and her diamond irises flash. “She could see what our civilization would be. She knew it was up to her to bring it to fruition.”

“How did she do it?” I ask.

Mae’e turns away from the sculpture and scoops up a handful of dirt. She takes a deep breath and then exhales. Green light shines behind her fluttering lids as more light fills the space between the soil.

Slowly, a fresh bud rises, unfurling until it becomes a full vine. The vine sways back and forth. I smile as it taps me on the shoulder.

“It’s called the ‘breath of life,’” Mae’e explains. “Mama Gaia grew every vine with love. She transformed lava fields into fertile soil. She carved out her own bones, imbuing them with the life needed to grow our first warriors.”

“The Lâminas?” I ask, and Mae’e nods.

“Our entire civilization. It all started with her.”

Mae’e removes a necklace with a glittering emerald at its center. She uses her new vine to clasp it around the Mother Root’s neck. I give her space as she gets on her knees, lips quick in a quiet prayer.

“What of your magic?” Mae’e asks when she’s done. But at the mention of my magic, I freeze. The mistakes of my past play before my eyes, strangling me like one of the New Gaian’s vines.

I see the moment I destroyed Ramaya to become the elder of the Connectors; the way I used my magic to paralyze Tzain when he tried to save his own sister from the attack I ordered on Ibadan. There’s still so much I have to make up for.

I don’t know how to atone for all of my mistakes.

“Did I say something wrong?” Mae’e asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s just… my magic causes pain. It doesn’t come from such a beautiful place.”

“I will be the judge of that.” Mae’e guides her vine to nudge me forward.

“Mae’e—”

“You cannot scare me off,” she insists. “Please, I wish to see!”

I start to push back, but the thought of Inan comes to mind. I remember the dreamscape that we once shared. The words of the incantation start to tickle my ear.

“There’s one thing we can try.…” I tread with care. “But I’ve never attempted to do this with another person.”

I sit down on the warm soil and stretch out both my hands. Mae’e’s brown lips twist into a smile. She sets down her vine and comes close. The scents of honey and ash wrap around my nose.

My skin shivers as Mae’e puts her palms in mine. She moves to lift my veil.

“It’s still too dangerous!” I rush to stop her, but Mae’e swats at my hand.

“It’s only us here!”

My face flushes as her fingers brush against my cheeks. She hooks the veil over my ears, turning me to face the Mother Root so no one else can see. I look up at the sacred being, the very heart of New Gaia.

Power radiates from the Mother Root like heat. I close my eyes, letting the connection wash over me. I hold on to the beauty of her magic as my own breaks free.

Power I haven’t called on in moons stirs within me, a tingle traveling through my skin. The familiar surge takes me back, reminding me of the great power I used to wield.

Mae’e gasps as the dark blue cloud engulfs our hands. It chills like ice asit travels up our arms. When it reaches our heads, everything disappears. Mae’e squeezes me tight as the entire civilization of New Gaia fades.

ILOOK DOWN ATmy own hands—there are no scars, no sign of the blood I’ve spilled. A gentle breeze blows through my white streak. I inhale the cinnamon-scented air, and it’s like I can truly breathe.

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