“I-I mean, I’m not one to judge.”

“I swear to you, Jelani, darkness creeps in like music, like an intoxicating melody playing to our own vanities. And I danced, Jelani….” She sniffles. “I was blind to the fragility of my own humanity. That I could be driven by anger or pride. That I could be wrong, Jelani.” Her shoulders shake from her crying.

“May I?” I ask, holding the edge of her armor. She nods, muffling her cry as I unstrap her breastplate. I set it on the ground and what’s left are both her bare shoulders, round with muscle, and yet slender and fragile. I set my hands on her right shoulder and I take her hand and put it on mine.

“You’re no more imperfect than I am, saisa. And I am sure the Mother is smiling with pride right now.”

She meets my eyes.

“If I’ve learned anything through all this, Kai, it’s that it’s these moments, like this one right now, that define who we are. And when we mess up, because we all will, the people we keep around us hold us up through it. The goal isn’t to not fall….” I take her hands in mine. “It’s to get back up.”

She nods.

I smile. “Come with me. I have something I’d like your help with.” She agrees and I hand her the Yakanna breastplate sitting unused in the corner. She hesitates but takes it.

“Where are we going?” she asks, latching it on.

“You’ll see.”

Outside, the sun beats over Yiyo. Ocean waves lap the shore, and I run my fingers through the leaves as we pass. Kai comes along hesitantly. I’d asked everyone to give us this moment with just the two of us, and I’m glad she was up for it. Jhamal lies still on the ground, and she clamps her mouth with a whimper. I loop my arm in hers.

“Forgiveness starts with yourself. Jhamal said he saw something in you.” I lay my hand on her bare shoulder. “And I see it too.”

She tucks her lip, nodding, as she realizes what we’re about to do.

We spread his arms and legs wide.

“May I?” I ask, reaching for the armor she’s wearing. Stones were what we used for the Macazi we buried, but gems are what the Ancestors used, and the only gems we have are on the Yakanna armor.

“Yes,” she says, and I flicker flames from my fingertips to the edge of her armor until it starts to drip, melting. Two pieces of jade pressed into the metal plop into my hands, piping hot. I cool them then place them over Jhamal’s eyes.

“Wismaja ya, Jhamal,” I say, remembering what the men said during the Macazi burial. “Rest well.”