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Back Master of Poisons
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

In the riverbed, Hezram’s fiends joined other spirit slaves building a tower with cathedral tree carcasses and slaves whose hearts were almost dark. Djola observed them, fascinated, dazed. Haphazard and clumsy, the tower collapsed twice, and the sweet-sour scent of decay and death rose in a cloud of smoke. Vandana’s bag got heavier and heavier, dragging him and Awa down. He tasted blood on Awa’s breath. By the fourth attempt, the fiends were careful, even cooperating with each other.

“Empty out your bag before it’s too late for you both,” Hezram’s voices whispered.

Rising quickly, the tower was less than ten feet away. Sentinel bees exploded with a flash of indigo, but made little difference—too many spirit slaves. Djola tried to pull free of Awa.

“Stop.” She held on. “We are miracles together.”

Djola shook his head. “Not here.” His left hand glowed inside the silver-mesh glove.

“Remove your glove,” Hezram’s horde said sweetly. “Touch the transgressor’s cheek. You will bring her down like Ice Mountain.”

Awa’s face fractured in his right eye. The left eye saw only smoke. As she spoke, her words also broke apart. Meaning escaped him.

“This monster murdered innocents.” Hezram’s voices were as clear as glass shattering. “You’re a witness, girl.”

“He speaks truth. I’ll exhaust you, destroy you,” Djola said.

“Save yourself. Abandon the Master of Poisons and his bag of demons and haints before he abandons you. Everyone always abandons you.”

Awa babbled and her grip tightened.

Panicked, Djola thrust his lethal left hand back and forth between her face and his own. “With me, no escape,” he said over and over.

2

Family

Smokeland was jumbled up. Demon voices and void-smoke confused Awa, made her wonder if she should honor a wild promise to a stranger, made her doubt that she could carry Djola to the seventh region and back to the everyday. But the conjure woman saved her life, saved the bees too. “Basawili!” Awa put a hand to Djola’s lips, silencing jibber jabber. He was heavier than Bal. Hovering with him over the dead riverbed was a challenge. Flying on seemed impossible. She couldn’t find the rhythm of the seventh region in her heart, still, “I can hold you and not lose myself.” She said what she wanted to believe, speaking Djola’s ancestor tongue, Anawanama.

“Be reasonable,” Djola spoke Anawanama also, intelligible again. “I’m begging you.”

They wobbled, thrown off balance by the conjure bag dangling from his shoulder. Awa glanced at the fiend tower, so many wasted bodies and dead trees. Djola’s fault, her fault also, still, “If I abandon you, I’m lost.”

“I should have smelled a smoke-walker so close.” Hezram’s fiends jabbed Awa with Empire talk. “Friend to bees, to horses and crows too. Jod said beware.”

“I need your long life not your sacrifice, Awa.” Djola’s Anawanama was a caress.