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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 omitted the cowards’ revenge behind the temple, which Tembe and her drummers interrupted. Instead she told more good-time tales of Meera and Rokiat—stealing coins from tribute plates, pulling Bibi’s foal from a bog, sneaking Tembe’s cook pots off to the huts and sharing feast scraps with everyone. “A transgressor told Tembe what we did. She had him bled to death for quick salvation. Nobody told on us again. Tembe left pots for us regularly and listened to our sorrows. Meera insisted we weren’t her spies. Maybe we were, but Meera and Rokiat are clever and brave.” Surely Bibi and her foal, a half-grown stallion now, had galloped fast and far, carrying her friends to safety. “If anybody escaped deluge and poison dust…”

“Crossroads gods are indifferent,” Djola remarked.

“None of the gods care for us.” Awa sighed. “If they exist at all.”

“A skeptic.” Djola touched her cheek. “We bring love to the world.”

Another star exploded and Awa felt hollowed out. “We who?”

“We who want to get anywhere.”

Djola probably blamed her for stalling on the light bridge. None of this was her fault. Awa bit her tongue on a lie—a Holy City survival tactic. Lies got you sucked into the void; truth did too. Best to keep your mouth shut sometimes.

4

Bee Dreams

The emptiness and chill on the light bridge are terrible. Gone are familiar magnetic ripples and steady gravity. The stars are too distant to feel the comfort of their heat or to waggle with their beams. The Bees try not to worry. No sentinels left to scent the air with banana fear. Instead, a hundred hundred Bees dance with Awa’s and Djola’s heart lights—a polyrhythmic pulse promising a bountiful future. The Bees are happy that Djola regurgitates power-food from his foot for them.

Even though this meal is sour sweet, like fermented nectar, it means the Bees won’t die on such a long, cold journey back to the hive. They take turns swarming Djola’s foot, careful not to sting tender flesh. Flapping their wings so furiously (for warmth) without such rich nutrients, they would wear out their hearts and expire. Nobody wants to die before they reach the hive. Nobody wants to waste wings or venom or bodies on darkness.

Time passes quickly. Cavorting in Awa’s hair, they cover themselves in her queen-scent. Djola’s queen-scent is weaker, but after fighting off fiends with him, after eating from his foot, the Bees know his smell. Djola belongs to the hive. He is as ready to die for the queen as they are. Anyone who loves Awa is a friend to Bees. Djola loves flowers and cathedral tree elders who offer their trunks as shelter. Awa has chosen wisely.