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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

Awa paused chewing to exclaim, “I know that pattern. Stars and eyes. It means something wonderful.”

“All patterns hold meaning. To see new patterns, you need new eyes.”

Awa smiled. “One of Bal’s favorite weaves.”

“Your Bal is a wise warrior.”

Spider-weave cloth, every color strong, was dress well-suited to renegades and free spirits. Easy to fade into shadows or dazzle in sunlight. His achy skin was grateful for a light touch. He put silver-mesh gloves back on. No need to risk rogue impulses or accidents. The Anawanama travel cape was a breeze on his shoulders and impervious to weather and weapons. When climbing boots had been cinched, he shook out a few figs for Fannie then slung Vandana’s bag across his chest. It felt heavier.

Outside the trunk, crows fussed and fumed. The thicket of brambles and haints slithered across the road—Kyrie’s Mountain Gates were closing tight—against what threat? The crows screeched. Sighing, he pulled two large rat corpses from the tree roots and shoved them outside for the crows. Azizi would have left the rats to rot in peace and feed the roots—

“But I am the Master of Weeds and Wild Things.”

“Djola?” Awa almost choked.

“How do you know my name?”

“Watch over us, Fannie.” Bees flew down from the hive toward their heads. “Guard our breath bodies.” Fannie shook her mane at Awa and gobbled the last fig.

“How do you know what you shouldn’t know?” Djola said as Awa strode toward him, a crown of bees in her hair. “Answer me.” Djola backed out of the tree cave.

Awa and Fannie followed. “Master of Weeds and Wild Things.” Awa gripped his arm. Her heartbeat rang in his ears. The rhythm made him swoon. “You’ve been lost, but not your name or true spirit.”

BOOK
IV

1

Debts

Before Djola could protest or resist, before he realized what was happening, Awa lifted his spirit body up. He marveled at her craft and audacity as they flew above rocky cliffs, higher and higher. Lahesh crystals filled with trickster spirits were scattered in Kyrie’s thicket of leaves, vines, boulders, and haints. Her Mountain Gates were a weave of Smokeland and the everyday without a wisp of void-smoke thanks to the crystals.

“I promised,” Awa said. Her heart was even stronger than he thought.

A sliver of moon lurked beyond the mist, a crooked smile in the dark. Djola longed to wipe the awful grin from the sky. Samina had always loved the scar moon, especially when it dangled low over the Salty Sea. A wound in the night, it tugs my spirit she would say and paddle Djola into waves higher than their house. This was reckless conjure on a flimsy raft, and he’d loved her for taking his breath away …

“Promised who?” Djola demanded.