JHAMAL AND I MOVE back down the narrow hall toward where Kowana Yechi will be held. The hall glows orange in the firelight, the fissures hardly distinguishable in the darkness.

“So how does it work exactly? The decorum, I mean.” Last thing I wanna do is not know what I’m walking into or give offense. I’ve done enough of that; I’m trying to bond with my people, not keep pissing them off.

“There’s time for people to address everyone. After the meeting.” There is more he wants to say, but he presses his lips closed.

“Okay, I’ll wait for the right time to speak. And how does it go?”

“Each clan nominates a tribe member, who then must accept. Then everyone casts their votes. It can get interesting, actually. There’s no guarantee people will vote for their own clansman. It’s one thing to consider someone a brother; it’s another entirely to believe they’re fit to rule over you.”

“And the leader is then…?” I ask as we round a stone corner. His face shines in the firelight.

“Crowned. There’s usually a formal coronation, but there’s no time for that now. I would guess the leader will form a war council as the first matter of business.”

“Sounds like you know a lot about this. Maybe you should volunteer.”

“You cannot volunteer. Humility is a leader’s greatest strength.”

“Well, maybe I’ll nominate you.” I elbow him, playfully, but he doesn’t laugh.

The crowd outside the meeting room is stoic. Moonlight twinkles from a crack in the ceiling, glinting off their armor, and a crowd funnels into the doorway. Everyone’s decked out and my scuffed Air Maxes look extra dirty. “I look like a scrub up in here next to them.”

“A what?”

“Nothing.”

He hands me a chest plate of armor. It’s fairly dinged up, one-shouldered and scuffed. It looks like it used to be all gold, but now it’s mostly black with gold left only on the tips. “It’s all we have.”

I reach but hesitate. The Yakanna don their armor with such pride. Is it right to put it on without their blessing? Somehow it just feels wrong. “I’ll be alright, but thanks.”

“At least hold on to it for when you go out there.”

The way he says “out there” lets me know he’s not at all behind my decision. I take the breastplate from him, and it’s much lighter than I’d imagined. “Thanks.”

I settle in a corner and fold open one last spell book just to be sure I’m not taking unnecessary risks. But my gut says what I’m looking for isn’t here. I fold over a page and read through spells to fuse elements together, recipes for potions that regrow damaged limbs. An anti-aging potion that regenerates cells. Nothing on raising the dead. Or restoring magic, for that matter.