“We told it not to eat anything, sir,” Sasha said.

“Oh, those things never listen,” the old man said. “You all have to go. Now, now, now, biko!” He gently but firmly ushered them all out. When his wife found out about the grasscutter, she, too, went into a panic and brought Sunny’s clothes all folded and fresh. “Take the caftan, it’s yours. Just get your beast and go, please!”

“Grashcoatah!” Orlu called. Grashcoatah flew down, landing in the same place he’d landed before, beside the pond that became a lake.

They all climbed on. “Sorry,” Sunny said. “But if it helps, you see that he did not destroy your garden.”

The farmer nodded. “For the moment. Grasscutters are known liars and equally known for their trickiness. Trust me when I say that you can trust a flying grasscutter as far as you can throw it. Be careful!”

Grashcoatah humphed, offended.

“And please consider our advice about living a simple life,” his wife added.

“We will,” Sunny said. “Will you be okay with that?” she asked, pointing a thumb at the lake.

“Oh, sure,” the farmer said. “It’ll move on now that it’s done what it came to do.”

“And since you punched it in the face,” his wife added. They all laughed.

They flew off, leaving the farmlands. As they climbed into the sky, Sunny looked back at the farm just in time to notice the sleek black BMW pulling up to the hut on the narrow dirt road. Even out in the middle of nowhere, the council had found them. They’d escaped completely by chance.

“We just have to make it to Osisi,” Orlu said. “If that farmer was right, we won’t have to make more stops.”

The grasscutter grunted with relief, and Orlu patted him on his side. “Don’t worry. We won’t let them harm you.”

“We forgot to ask them where we were,” Sunny said, minutes later.

“Does it really matter?” Sasha asked. “As far as I’m concerned, that was very much the middle of nowhere.”

For hours, they all were quiet as Grashcoatah flew on. Sunny didn’t know what the others thought about as they stared into the clouds ahead, behind, or to the side, but she was glad for the silence. A chill had fallen over her flesh, a headache at her temples, and in her ears she heard a high-pitched screaming. And in the back of her mind, like the powerful afterimage left if one happened to see lightning strike, she saw the image of Death. She hadn’t looked right at him, but she’d seen him with her peripheral vision as she pushed back.

And she was still seeing it—a blaring whiteness that could swallow anything if you faced it. She’d been so close. She shut her eyes, stifling a sob that came from deep within. Ekwensu had been there, Death had been there . . . and she was falling apart. And if I had looked at Death, what makes me Sunny would have died. And I’d just be Anyanwu. Which means I wouldn’t really be . . . She felt Anyanwu hiss protest at her thought, and Sunny sat up straighter.