Page 71 of Children of Anguish and Anarchy

“What do we do?” Nâo looks at me. I study the island, reaching for a plan. One of the Skulls’ ships prepares to depart the trading port. Its crimson sails billow, sporting the ornate seals that mark the Tribes of Baldeírik.

“Can you show me what ships will pass through the bay?” I ask Dakarai.

The elder of the Seers opens his palms.

“Orúnmila, bá mi s0r0. Orúnmila, bá mi s0r0—” As Dakarai chants, silver light surrounds his hands. It swirls in a vibrant spiral until the trading port before us appears between his palms.

We watch as time accelerates through Dakarai’s magic. The sun rises and falls in the sky. Different ships sail in and out of the trading ports, revealing the Skulls’ sailing patterns.

The full moon disappears into blackness. Countless chests and containers move from the ships to the sands. I worry I won’t find what I’m looking for when I see it, a ship mightier than all the rest.

I found you.

I bend down, getting as close to Dakarai’s magic as I can. Triple the size of any of the other Skulls’ ships, King Baldyr’s vessel moves like a fortress in the sea. Its golden sails flutter in the wind. Countless multi-colored shields decorate the ship’s sides, glistening over the crashing waves like scales.

“What does this mean?” Nâo asks. I study the night sky—the full moon hangs above.

“We know when King Baldyr’s coming,” I answer. “That means we have a chance to annihilate him.”

“But are we ready?” Dakarai asks. I look back to the New Gaian emissaries; one sketches a portrait of the island and the Skulls.

“We aren’t,” I answer. “But they are.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

AMARI

“ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?”

Mae’e ignores my question as she dresses me in the pale ivy kaftan of one of her Green Maidens. She drapes a beaded veil over my face, hiding me in plain sight.

“You have to see it,” she insists. “And there is no better time than this. The Maidens have just tended to her roots. Trust me, this will work.”

I follow close behind as Mae’e leads us from her temples, passing under the endless archways. When we make it to the base, thunder booms above. I look up to the dark clouds.

Zélie and Yéva continue to train. They fight despite the way the mountain shakes. Though we both reside in Mae’e’s temples, I haven’t seen her for weeks.

I don’t even know if she sleeps.

It feels foolish to sneak around with the danger that awaits, but I don’t have the heart to take away Mae’e’s smile. As the weeks continue, I feel the weight of the coming fight. It hangs over her shoulders, heavy as the night.

Though Emperor Jörah ordered Zélie and me to remain in Mae’e’s temples, no one stops me as we board a floating lily pad. Mae’e presses her hand to its bottom, and the water steams underneath. Smoke rises into the air as we sail from the mountain’s base.

My pulse quickens as we make our way back to New Gaia’s city center. The civilization glitters in the morning light. When we join the central network of canals, villagers bow as Mae’e floats past.

“I told you,” Mae’e whispers. “All you need to do is sit still.”

I press my hands together and straighten my spine the way I’ve seen the Green Maidens do before. We move through the floating vines, making our way to the inner ring. Lively music fills the air as we sail past the tail end of the marketplace. I watch as a quartet plays agogô bells and double-headed bass drums. People clap in rhythm with the tune, joining along in song.

The scents of cinnamon and black pepper envelop me. We sail past food stalls filled with ripe mangoes and fresh papayas. Jars of açai berries sit alongside tropical caju fruits. My mouth waters at the plates of rice and black bean stew.

Past the market, women walk with baskets full of wildflowers. I watch as they dump them into a vibrant pile. Perfume makers sit in circles as they work, pressing individual petals into their brightly painted bottles.

The imperial palace looms behind us as we sail beyond the marketplace, reaching the temples and bustling bathhouses. I don’t want the trip to end.

Then we arrive at the Mother Root.

“Skies…,” I breathe. Our lily pad comes to a stop before a tree unlike any I’ve ever seen. Several meters wide, thick roots pass over one another by the hundreds. They form the body of a woman with her arms stretched wide and her head pointed to the sky.

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