Tears pricked Yenni’s eyes. Her father squeezed her hand and sighed. He pushed himself upright. “Dayo, fetch me my runepaint, there,” he said, pointing to a dark shelf in the left corner of the room. Her brother hurried to obey.

“Now, leave us. I would talk to your sister in private.”

Dayo bowed, touching his fingertips to the ground. “As you wish, N’baba. Good night.”

With Dayo gone, Yenni’s father turned his attention back to her. “I had hoped to do this tomorrow after your final blessing from the Masters. But come, give me your hand. I will teach you a new rune.”

Yenni’s eyes went wide. Each tribe had certain runes they kept carefully hidden from the others. Some were passed down only among the royal family, and only as the Masters deemed royal children ready and worthy. Some were known strictly among the Masters alone. Slowly, reverently, Yenni gave her left hand to her father.

“Now, listen carefully.” He sang her a rune hymn she had never heard before, the wordless tones of his voice bittersweet. As he sang his voice no longer shook, but came out strong. The hymn was not long, and he had Yenni repeat it twice after him.

“Very good. Watch and do as I do.”

He dipped his brush in his paint and drew an unfamiliar rune, this one fluid and interconnecting, on her palm. His hand remained steady and sure. Yenni felt a brief warmth as the rune set, and her father kissed her hand before dropping it and handing her the brush.

“Pull on your rune as you draw the same one for me.”

As Yenni pulled ach’e to the rune she found it easy to re-create it on his palm.

“Well done. Now, with your iyaya as well.”

Once Yenni had completed the same set of runes with her mother on their right hands, her father sighed and leaned back against the blankets.

“These runes will keep you connected to us. If they fade, so does our health. If they disappear, so too have we departed this world.”

Yenni could not stop a tear from falling. “I understand, N’baba.”

“By the Sha, that will not be for a while yet. A good night’s rest and I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Come,” said Yenni’s mother, drawing her down to sit beside her. “Tell us a story, the way you used to when you were a child. It will be a good distraction to all of us. Tell the story of Orire N’jem.”

Yenni sniffed, wiped a tear away, and began.

“Many, many rains ago, when the Sha still walked the world of man, three of them had a disagreement . . .”