Redemptor Page 10

  I was wrong to put you in danger like that, Dayo added. I’m sorry. It’s a miracle you calmed her down. I’m still not sure what you did.

  We both stopped her, I objected. If you weren’t so annoyingly kind all the time, I’d never have figured out what she wanted. I turned to smile at him. Guess we make a pretty good team, Oba of Aritsar.

  He dimpled, highlighting a smudge of soot on his cheek. Guess so, Obabirin Redemptor.

  Speaking of which . . . mind if I borrow those long legs of yours?

  I sent a vision of my intention into Dayo’s mind. His eyebrows rose when he saw . . . but he nodded, as usual trusting me without question. He crouched low so I could roost on his shoulders, and held my legs so I wouldn’t topple. The crowd—villagers, priests, nobility, and the man in the crocodile mask—watched as I directed Dayo to the arch.

  Then I set my jaw, gripped the hunk of coal, and slashed at the ancient inscription.

  When my vandalism was done, the blessing that had once invoked the power of blood dynasty, the moneyed name of my ancestors, was now reduced to three words.

  OLOJARI WILL PROSPER.

  I drew back my sleeves, revealing the bright blue marks on my forearms. Then I called my mask by its name, and light burst from beneath my tunic, drawing scandalized gasps from the crowd. The majority of the priests and villagers sank to genuflect in the dirt. But others, especially the gentry, just stared, frozen in shock.

  “By the power vested in me as Empress Redemptor,” I announced, “with consent from His Imperial Majesty the Emperor . . . I officially forfeit the mine beneath the Holy Olojari Forge. From this day, the quarry and all its resources belong to the miners of the province, who may select delegates among themselves to facilitate trade with the capital. The nobility of Olojari,” I went on, nodding at the apoplectic huddle of well-dressed lords and ladies, “who have until now, so deftly managed the mine on the crown’s behalf, are hereby relieved of this service. Let the record be sealed—my word is passed.”

  A wave of gasps and guttural cries rose across the temple clearing, and it took several moments before I recognized the sound for what it was: celebration. Dayo laughed, squeezing my legs where he held me for balance. My heart pumped with fear, hope, and elation . . .

  And right on cue, a specter child floated above the crowd, gazing down at the happy display with sunken, bottomless eyes. Then in a chilling gush of wind, the ojiji’s treble voice hissed at my ear.

  You helped them, but you did not help us. It’s too late—too late. Do more.

  Pay for our lives.

  Guilt overwhelmed me. The child was right. How dare I stop and celebrate when there was still so much work to be done? The mine was only the beginning.

  When the apparition vanished, I climbed down from Dayo’s bony shoulders with unmajestic awkwardness, then pointed, panting, into the crowd.

  “You.” I indicated at the masked man called the Crocodile, who watched me from a distance with what seemed to be wary fascination. “I’ve heard of you. You’ve been inciting insurrection across the continent. And this was only the beginning, wasn’t it? You want to wake all the alagbatos. Start disasters everywhere.”

  The man stiffened in surprise. I clearly wasn’t supposed to know about the other alagbatos—and wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for Umansa’s prophecies. The Imperial Guard warriors lurched for the Crocodile, who moved a hand to his weapon hilt. My accusation had been more than enough to have him seized and imprisoned. But I held up a hand to detain the warriors. If this man had agents throughout the empire, waiting to summon the other alagbatos . . . perhaps only he could call them off? Besides, after his seemingly accurate tirade about stolen wealth, I felt strange about imprisoning him. Still . . .

  “You’re either a fanatic or an idiot,” I told him bluntly. “You almost got these townspeople killed. And when the quarry was destroyed, what then? These people are miners. How were they supposed to live?”

  From an ever-so-slight hunch of the Crocodile’s shoulders, I could tell my reprimand had hit home. Still, with a low, mask-muffled bravado, he replied, “They were to live free from the yoke of exploitation. As long as that quarry continued to line the coffers of your gentry sycophants, the people of Olojari would never be liberated.” He paused, again seeming off balance, then conceded coolly, “But Your Imperial Majesty, it appears, has improved on my plan. Well done, Empress Idajo.”

  “Call off the other attacks,” I snapped, “and I’ll continue my improvements.”

  The man considered me. Then, in a single elegant movement, he genuflected, touching his head and heart in the imperial salute. “Let the will of Idajo be done,” he said. He began to mutter a rapid series under his breath. The onlookers gasped, backing away as his limbs convulsed, and the tendons is his muscles glowed gold. He yelped in pain and grasped his leather-banded arm, where his veins bulged grotesquely—then he vanished.

  “Track him,” I ordered the guards, disbelieving my eyes. He must have darted behind a building. Created an illusion. But after an hour of searching the town, the imperial warriors returned empty-handed.

  The Crocodile was gone.

  CHAPTER 11

  “We don’t have to do this,” Dayo said a week later, as we crossed the palace courtyard to stop at the An-Ileyoba gates. “We can postpone the Emperor’s Walk. You’re still recovering from Olojari.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I may not be immune to death, but I’m not made of glass. Besides, we owe this to the city folk. They deserve a holiday.”

  News of our cancelled coronation ceremony, which Dayo still insisted on postponing until I returned from the Underworld, had shocked the volatile social world of Oluwan City. Combined with news of my forfeiting the mine—and depriving, without warning, the nobles of its profits—the atmosphere at An-Ileyoba court had been coldly sullen for days.

  My gaze traveled to the skyline below, where white-washed high-rises glowed against the velvet night sky. All around Palace Hill, the citizens of Oluwan City had pretended to fall asleep.

  The Emperor’s Walk was a five-hundred-year-old tradition. The night before a coronation, the Imperial Guard imposed an early curfew, and the million residents of Oluwan City took to their homes in quiet revelry—feasting, storytelling, burning lamps all night . . . and peeking if they dared from their windows, hoping for a glance of their future emperor as he walked the streets in the dark. Tonight, they would look for two figures instead of one.

  “I wish our family was home,” I said, staring back wistfully at the moonlit An-Ileyoba turrets. “Emero, Maya, Kam—all of us. It would make the palace seem less . . . ominous.”

  “We can’t be sure what the Crocodile will do,” Dayo reminded me. “I miss the others too, but it’s best they keep watch for alagbato attacks in their realms.”

  I nodded glumly, picking at the sachet of dried kuso-kuso I kept folded in my wrapper. I placed a leaf under my tongue whenever I needed to feel my council siblings, to sync my heartbeat with theirs, scattered thousands of miles away. Occasionally, I caught snippets of words:

  Love—

  Tar—

  Miss—

  Flashes of their faces and voices that I savored each night, like drops of cool, clean water in dry season. Missing Kirah was the worst. And I’d received word that she might not return for several months, continuing from Blessid Valley to start her campaign in Songland, facilitating reparations for the Redemptors.

  Dayo nudged my ribs. “The Emperor’s Walk can wait,” he said again. “Am knows you need the rest. Don’t you have your first . . . ah . . . intimate meeting with the vassal rulers tomorrow?”

  I stiffened, battling the unsettling memory of King Zuri’s arms around me at the Peace Banquet, and the inviting smell of agave wafting over me as he leaned toward my ear. Of all the vassal rulers I had to convince to love me, Zuri unnerved me the most.

  “I’m trying not to think about it,” I told Dayo. “And it’s not an Emperor’s
Walk anymore. It’s our walk.”

  I closed my hand around his. Imperial Guard Captain Bunmi, along with four of her cohort, stood in the gate’s shadow, waiting to escort us to the city. She saluted me and Dayo as we passed through. “Evening, Your Imperial Majesties. We’ve secured your route through the city.”

  The warriors were dressed in plainclothes, pupils dilated with childish excitement. I winked at them, and Bunmi suppressed a smile.

  “Evening, fellow commoners,” I said, dipping my head.

  “Just out for a stroll,” Dayo added, in the worst working-class Oluwani accent I’d ever heard, making all of us burst into laughter.

  Festive body paint covered our arms and faces, and our skin smelled sharply of lemon and peppermint, a balm to keep mosquitoes at bay. In theory, we were supposed to blend into a crowd of commoners. But tradition required Dayo and me to wear clothing from the reign of Enoba the Perfect. The outdated costumes did little to conceal our identities. They were also unnecessary, thanks to the city-wide curfew . . . but the old customs still held.

  “Ready to meet the ancestors?” Dayo whispered, linking his arm through mine. The beat of drums and shakers pulsed from the city below, muffled from celebrations confined indoors. Overhead, my sprites sparkled against the cloudless night sky. I had tried to convince the creatures to stay at the palace, but they would have none of it. Now they followed me and Dayo in a chirping, glowing parade, announcing our approximate location to the entire city.

  The Watching Wall, several stories tall and glistening with muraled plaster, began at the base of Palace Hill, and cut for miles through the city. We would walk its full length, stopping to honor past Raybearers and their councils.

  Enoba the Perfect’s shrine began our pilgrimage. Dayo and I knelt on cushions before the image of our eight-times-great-grandfather. I had to crane my neck to glimpse the late emperor’s face, and even standing, we barely reached Enoba’s ankle.

  “We pay homage,” Dayo murmured. The warriors passed him a chalice, from which he sipped palm wine and poured a libation.

  I did the same and echoed him. “Homage.” But as I stared at Enoba’s serene broad features, his ringed hand lifted in blessing, all I could think was: How many?

  How many Raybearing daughters did you send away? Would you have wanted me standing here at all?

  We knelt the longest at Olugbade’s mural, emptying the chalice at the late emperor’s feet. I sent tendrils of comfort down the Ray bond, watching Dayo for signs of anxiety. But his eyes remained dry.

  “Strange,” he said, touching the cold stone of his father’s likeness. He smiled weakly. “This was how it felt when he was alive too.”

  I grimaced and nodded. The Lady had parented me from the opposite wing of an isolated manor. And Olugbade had loved Dayo the only way he knew how—from a distance.

  We continued down the wall, kneeling and paying tribute every half mile. Moonlight glowed across the broad gravel avenues, and lamps twinkled festively in every window. Faint music wafted into the streets from closed shops and high-rises. Children’s voices lifted in praise of Dayo, placing his name in the ancient hymn of Aritsar: Eleven moons watch the sun dance: Black and gold, Ekundayo!

  But every so often, a new song spilled into the streets. I’d heard the melody before, mocked by nobles in the palace . . . but these commoners sang it in full voice, sending a thrill of joy and terror down my arms.

  There is no night in Oluwan, nse, nse

  The sky is bright in Swana—awaken, bata-bata.

  They lie awake in Moreyao; nse, nse

  They sing in Nontes and Biraslov; snow melting, gun-godo.

  Djbanti and Nyamba rise, tada-ka, tada-ka

  Look, their children never sleep! Eyes open, bata-bata!

  Why, you ask? Why?

  The Pelican has spoken.

  A sun for the morning, a sun for the evening,

  And moons for years to come.

  Dhyrma, Blessid Valley, nse, nse

  Sparti’s tears have all dried up; tada-ka, tada-ka

  Quetzala grins and shields its eyes; nse, nse!

  Mewe will shed its heavy skins; gun-godo, gun-godo

  Why, you ask? Why?

  The Pelican has spoken!

  Tarisai for the morning!

  Ekundayo for the evening!

  And peace for moons to come.

  “Do you think they mean it?” I whispered. “That they’ve accepted me already?”

  Dayo grinned up at the high-rise buildings. They twinkled like beacons over the empty, mist-filled streets, and the vibrations of drums and voices shook the earth beneath us. “Sure sounds like it,” he said.

  When I didn’t look reassured, he checked to make sure the guards were out of earshot, then turned me to face him.

  “You’re meant to be here, Tar,” he whispered, pouring his kind black eyes into mine. “I’m more certain of that than I’ve ever been of anything.”

  My heart raced. Then it slowed, as if the Ray had crept between us unbidden, matching my pulse to his. His dark features eased into a smile: the same one I had seen my first day in the Children’s Palace, square and radiant. The smile that had convinced me to stay.

  Dayo’s lean chest rose and fell. His breath synced with mine, and an urge blossomed inside me, seizing control. I slid my hands to Dayo’s shoulders and pressed my lips to his cheek. The kiss was shy. Nothing like the deep, core-shaking ones I gave Sanjeet.

  But I still winced when I stepped back, dry-mouthed and mortified.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should have asked. I . . . I know you don’t like . . .”

  “Kisses are fine,” he said slowly. His features wrinkled with confusion. “Tar—is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Yes. No. I’m sorry, it’s just—” I shook my head, trying to make sense of the fog. “Dayo . . . ever since I was little, there’s always been this dread. This haunting thought that I’m doing something wrong. That I am wrong, that I’ll always be alone, that everyone will always leave me. I never even realized the voice was there . . . not until I met you, and it was gone. I don’t feel that way with anyone else. Not with Kirah. Not even with Jeet. Just you.” I bit my lip, hiding my face in my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not making sense.”

  “Of course you are.”

  I peeked up at him. “I am?”

  He gave a lopsided smile, using his thumb to wipe my cheek. I must have smudged my body paint when I’d kissed him.

  “If there’s anything I’ve learned from having eleven partners bonded to me for life,” he said gently, “it’s that there are all kinds of love, Tar. You talk about things with Kirah that you never share with Jeet. And you have—things—with Jeet . . . that you’ll never have with me. And that’s fine. We’re the only Raybearers on earth. What we have is . . .” He trailed off, words failing, and flooded my mind instead.

  Warmth coursed from the roots of my scalp to the soles of my feet. All of a sudden, everything was Dayo—his thoughts, his earthy smell, his steady heartbeat—and yet I was more myself than ever. On both our chests, the oba and obabirin masks glowed, and for a moment, they almost seemed to float, drawn to each other like two halves of a perfect whole. Then Dayo withdrew and the masks faded.

  The guards were glancing back at us. Sheepishly we fell in step again, and Dayo linked my arm through his.

  “You’re doing it again,” I mumbled, resting my head on his shoulder. “Making me feel like I belong.”

  Faintly, the glyphs on my arms began to sting. I shuddered, fighting off the surge of ghostly whispers.

  Not enough. Not enough. He is blind. Do more.

  Dayo paused, considering. Then he dipped to drop a kiss, experimentally, on my cheek. “That’s fun,” he concluded. “I can do without the rest, I think. But we should kiss more often.”

  I laughed, shoving him as he aimed another peck at my nose. “I’m not sure how Jeet would feel about that.”

  “He stole your he
art,” Dayo pointed out. “He can spare your nose every now and then.” He dimpled, then grew suddenly distant. “This world is going to be so much brighter for future Raybearers. Can you imagine, Tar? Just think. Now that we know there are two, they’ll have soulmates . . . instead of growing up lonely. Like we did.” He draped an arm around me. “I mean, it, Tar. When you and Jeet finally have children, it’ll be the best thing that ever—”

  I stopped dead in my tracks, dropping my arm from his.

  Dayo blinked. “What’s wrong?”

  “When Jeet and I what?”

  Dayo smiled, shifting his feet. “You know. I just assumed. Since you and Jeet are always finding excuses to slip away, be alone together . . . I figured it was . . . bound to happen. Eventually.”

  “We haven’t been together like that,” I said, my voice shrill. “Not yet. And even if we had been . . .” I thought of my panic that night with Sanjeet, how I froze in his arms. A realization formed in my stomach, hardening into conviction. “Dayo, I don’t think I want to be a mother. Ever.”

  “Oh.” He looked stunned. “Well, not now, maybe. But later . . .”

  “Later I’ll change my mind?” I crossed my arms. “What makes you think that?”

  His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” He sighed. “We have to make more Raybearers somehow. And what it takes is—you know. Not in the stars for me.” He leaned against the Watching Wall, looking queasy.

  My anger drained away. I slipped my hand in his, and he squeezed it tiredly.

  “I asked Ai Ling,” he said after a pause. “If something was wrong with me.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Why Ai Ling?”

  “I don’t know.” Dayo squirmed, considering. “She’s just so easy to talk to. Have you noticed that? And she listens better than anyone, even when she pretends not to care. I wonder why she . . .” Dayo trailed off, looking sheepish, and picked at the grain of his wrapper. “Anyway. She’s pretty sure there are others like me. Some who can’t stand sex, some who like it but don’t feel drawn to anyone, and others who just . . . feel nothing.” He shrugged. “I’m the first kind. And I don’t know how to change.”