Page 29 of Ashes of Gold
ASMALL COURTYARD ABOUT Ahundred meters from the access point where the Ghizoni are is the closest thing we can get to a proper burial ground, Jhamal had explained. Abandoned buildings are walled around us, backed up by overgrown field. The fur-cloaked guy and a few others who dress just like him follow us outside. Kai and the Yakanna come along with a few other stragglers.
They stand on opposite ends, and I remember what Jhamal mentioned about tribal loyalty. The guy cloaked in fur wears armor similar to Jhamal’s: leather straps, the gold plates across half his chest. He is Beerchi, I bet. He and the men at his side must also be part of Jhamal’s clan.
Others in long robes tied with gold twine at the waist—huddle together away from everyone else, and it’s clearer what’s going on here; more than Yakannaian loyalties have reemerged. There are many divisions here.
“Gahlee,” Jhamal says, nodding in the white-robed men’s direction. “Or scribe, if you prefer the term. But gae-lee is how you would call their clan. Learned, lettered. Scholarly.” He means Bati.
I nod. I can totally see it. Two men lug a stone vase, grunting. Ipeer over its edge and it’s full of dirt from what I can tell.
“Let me help.” I point and flick my wrist up. “J’meh.”
The vase lifts, hovering above the ground. They thank me, but it’s me that should be thanking them. This was my mistake. Despite their pinched stares and foot tapping, they are going through with this knowing we don’t have the time for it. Because of me. I’m indebted to them.
Apology after apology claws at me.
“It is okay, Jelani,” Zora whispers, moving closer to me.
“I feel so bad.”
“Sssh.” She squeezes my hand and the knot in my chest eases some. “Stand here.” She gestures and I move next to her. “Now just copy what everyone does, and when it’s your turn, I’ll tell you what to do.”
I nod.
A drum sounds, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. And it is beautiful. And would only be more so if we could have it properly at the Ancestors’ burial ground behind Yiyo. But for now, this dirt patch surrounded by abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the Capital will do.
We stand in a circle around the boy, and two Beerchi in fur cloaks, lay stones over each of his eyes. The next two in line adorn his hands with flowers. The next pair, wearing long white robes, scoop dirt from the vase and cover his feet.
Zora is next in line, then me. She steps forward and the most beautiful hum floats from her lips. Her eyes are closed, her palm on her diaphragm. The song comes out like ebony silk, a wave of emotions. Her voice rises high, touching the stars, and flutters like wings on the wind. She sings of a pain that feels rooted and very real. Each note makes my skin tingle.
The group joins in a low hum, grounding her lilt with heaviernotes of sorrow. When their hums stop, all that’s left is Zora’s voice as high as the clouds, holding a note that would make the gods cry.
Staffs bang the ground, and she smiles at me. “The hole, you must now dig it.”
I scan for spells and thanks to Jhamal’s drilling me for so long, several cross my mind. I whisper the words under my breath and part my hands. Streams of energy sprout from my hands, parting the dirt like hair. The four remaining volunteers lift the boy and lay him in the divot. Then each of us crouches on the ground and covers him in dirt. Jhamal scoops out the last fistfuls of dirt from the vase and shakes it out over the grave.
“It is from the Ancestors’ burial ground. In it their ashes are alive with their spirit. We leave pieces of them here to show our faithfulness to the tradition.”
Then dancing breaks out, catching me completely off guard. Jhamal loops his arm in mine and we’re spinning. Someone is tapping drums somewhere, and all I can think of is what if someone hears us? But the elation tugs at me, and before I know it, I’m doing my Renegade to the rugged beat. It’s a whole remixed bop and I’m feeling it. Zora jigs with me, her eyes brighter than the sun.
“What is this?” I ask.
“We seal the ceremony with joy. Joy, Jelani, is the greatest form of rebellion.” Jhamal presses his hands on my hips and I twist and grind. “We cling to it. It is the Ghizoni way.”
The revelry is short but refreshing, and I’m still bopping my head as we go inside, a smile still staining my lips.
Inside, Bri is folded over a mountain of books at a corner table.
“Find anything?”
“Sort of.” She folds over a chunk of pages. “Look at this.”
I squint over the pages, hearing Moms’s voice in my head about how badly I need glasses. But before the words solidify in focus, a clanging snatches me around. Kai is standing chin to chin with Shaun, the guy with the fur cloak. Beerchi, like Jhamal, if I had to guess. His nostrils are flared and his fingers hover over a sheath at his hip.
“They’re about to take each other’s heads off.”
“You’re not kidding.” Bri ducks beneath a book.
About what?I wonder. Jhamal, the peacemaker, is nowhere in sight. So I hop up.
