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Chapters (102)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. DRAMATIS PERSONAE
  6. BOOKI
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. BOOKII
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. 6
  36. 7
  37. 8
  38. 9
  39. 10
  40. 11
  41. 12
  42. 13
  43. 14
  44. 15
  45. 16
  46. 17
  47. 18
  48. 19
  49. BOOKIII
  50. 1
  51. 2
  52. 3
  53. 4
  54. 5
  55. 6
  56. 7
  57. 8
  58. 9
  59. 10
  60. 11
  61. 12
  62. 13
  63. 14
  64. 15
  65. 16
  66. 17
  67. BOOKIV
  68. 1
  69. 2
  70. 3
  71. 4
  72. 5
  73. 6
  74. 7
  75. 8
  76. 9
  77. 10
  78. 11
  79. BOOKV
  80. 1
  81. 2
  82. 3
  83. 4
  84. 5
  85. 6
  86. 7
  87. 8
  88. 9
  89. 10
  90. 11
  91. 12
  92. 13
  93. 14
  94. 15
  95. 16
  96. 17
  97. 18
  98. Glossary
  99. Acknowledgments
  100. Also by Andrea Hairston
  101. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  102. Newsletter Sign-up

“We don’t want anybody to know about our tunnel adventures,” Meera said, her feet flying over rocky ground.

“No.” Awa gritted her teeth and kept up.

“Jod says, Iyalawo Kyrie is against bleeding transgressors to death. He worries she’ll ride into Holy City on feast day with a troupe of spark demons to burn priests and acolytes and rescue transgressors. I told him not to worry. Kyrie won’t do this.”

“Why talk to Jod?”

Meera sighed and took Awa’s good arm. “Kyrie only cares about her mountain and her trees, and her haint people. Ice Mountain is Iyalawo Tembe’s concern.”

Awa leaned into Meera. “Iyalawos marry their mountains.”

“That wrecks the heart for everyday men.” Meera shuddered. “Floating-city Babalawos plotted to poison Kyrie, but she made her one true love drink the lethal brew instead, and he died.”

“I heard a different story.” Awa couldn’t remember the details.

“Kyrie is black lava and bitter ice,” Meera insisted. “She eats her enemies’ hearts and makes demon gates from stolen phalluses. Tembe is not that bad.”

“Really?”

“Tembe loves Hezram. Kyrie loves no one. She calls up earthquakes and bad weather. A monster.” Meera quivered, happy to have someone to rage against as they slipped from the cave into the back of their hut—a dead end for anyone without the key Rokiat let Meera steal. “We don’t need monster Kyrie rescuing us.” Meera kissed Awa’s cheek. “We’ll save ourselves.”

Awa grunted at this fantasy, then touched Meera’s smile and relented. “Yes, we will.”

Sometimes illusions were torture. But not always.

5

Gifts from the Crows

The Crows watch as people throw good food in a deep hole and cover it with dirt. They screech and caw at stupid waste. They drop feces on faces and heads. An archer sends an arrow their way and only nicks one wing. The Crows take to the trees, blending into shadows to avoid his bad aim. They hope for carelessness, for bits of flesh left lying.

The sun is almost gone and people are tired from filling holes all day. They sweat and curse and gripe and finally drift back inside the gates. The Crows count. Three remain: Rokiat, Meera, and Awa. Rokiat and Meera roll in the grass, caressing and sucking one another. They are no danger. Awa uncovers the last dead bodies. She strips off yellow robes and caws, not the nonsense most humans do. Awa knows how to speak of good food or danger or all is safe. Awa sits in grass, chattering as Crows swoop down, watching as they pick and peck at a feast.