Clambering to the top, a spirit slave with a bright heart smashed others out of the way using a double-headed talking drum. Awa stared at bells and seeds on the rims and faltered. The fiend leapt at her, light as ashes and faster than thought.

“Get out of here.” Djola collided with the fiend, shoving it off course. He fumbled with the mesh glove on his left hand. The fiend gripped Djola’s cape, tugging him toward granite teeth. They twisted and whirled and got tangled in rippling fabric. “Fly!” Djola yelled.

But Awa hovered close, gaping at mottled goat strands connecting the drumheads and Aido cloth decorations. She knew only one person with such an instrument. The fiend caught Djola’s right foot, bit through thick boot leather, and sucked greedily. Djola howled and kicked the fiend in the face to no avail. As they spun away from Awa, the drum hit her cheek and twanged a familiar tone.

What did it matter who this spirit slave had once been?

Awa snapped the viper’s head from her neck. She thrust her hand through the fiend’s back and stabbed the sparking heart. Pain shot up her arm and she almost fainted. Venom burst into indigo sparks that spread through chest, abdomen, legs, and arms. When sparks flared from dark eye sockets, Awa pulled the fangs out. The fiend unclamped granite jaws from Djola’s shredded boot and swooned. Awa clutched an almost unconscious Djola. Her hand hovered over the Vévés sealing his heart.

“Don’t abandon me,” she pleaded with him.

Djola pressed her hand close. The Vévés glowed—a cool light. “I’m here.” His cape fluttered as he tucked the mangled right foot against the back of his left knee.

Thrashing in indigo sparks, the fiend drifted toward the aurora. Hezram’s visage faded, and color blossomed on the smooth cheeks of a veson, a Green Elder whose heartbeat was silver lightning bolts. Bloodshot eyes were outlined in black kohl. Thick gray hair was knotted with Lahesh flame-cloth, seeds, and carapaces. Red mica glittered on broad palms as vie played the talking drum.

Awa fought tears. “Yari!”

“The griot of griots?” Djola’s voice cracked. “Kyrie said you’d been captured. I didn’t want to believe her.”

“Awa, my last gift, come to me again.” Yari smiled. “And Djola, Master of Weeds and Wild Things. I’d hoped to find you both.”

“Come with us.” Awa flew toward Yari. “We’ll meet Djola’s friend and then—”

“Abelzowadyo.” Yari floated just out of reach. “Sacred shapeshifter. Say it.”

“Abelzowadyo,” Awa repeated.

“The one who is changing into all things, but is never just one thing. Find Bal and offer this ancient Zamanzi word.”

“Zamanzi?” Awa sputtered.

“For your crossover, your Elder ceremony. I wanted to tell you and Bal when we three were together again.” Yari’s eyes blazed. “Bal lives still. Tell—”