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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 could all be lost souls.” Awa put cool hands on his head and heart Vévés. “We must never give up looking for each other.”

Djola let the knife fall and went limp in Bal’s arms. Vie clutched him and rocked.

Following a rogue impulse, Awa stumbled to the emperor. “Come with me?”

“Where?” Azizi shook his head, eyes blank, breath still shallow. Blood soaked through the cloth at his neck. “Outside the citadel, I’m not safe.”

“You’re not safe here either.” Awa squeezed Meera’s hand. “Watch over us.”

12

Trading Stories

Before Meera could protest or Azizi could resist, before Bal or Djola realized what was happening, Awa lifted Azizi’s spirit body through the sky window and headed for Jumbajabbaland. The border-void was thin, a puff or two of smoke. Azizi kicked and screeched all the same as Awa tugged him into what might be or could be, but was certainly not far from all that was happening right now in the Empire.

“You must be Awa.” Azizi batted the air in front of his eyes. “Am I drunk or is this jumba jabba real?” He gawked at the swirl of landscape rushing by and the volcano hearts pumping in his and Awa’s chests.

“Jumba jabba means speaking miracles is grace, for we are what we say.” Awa quoted The Songs for Living and Dying. “So say what you mean to be and do what you say.” She flew faster than the speed of thought, trying to find the rhythm of Samina’s realm.

“Smokeland.” He pointed at wisps trailing behind them. “Yari wanted to fly me across the void once, years ago, but we never made it.” Azizi pulled a tight curl at her neck. A sluggish bee crawled to her ear.

“Leave her be,” Awa commanded.

Startled, Azizi jerked away. “Yari said I was too heavy.”

“Djola was heavier than you at first. And Yari smoke-walked with Djola.”

“Or—” He pointed at her chest. Her heart was like a star exploding. “Perhaps you’re a stronger smoke-walker than Yari.”

Awa snorted. “Or perhaps you’ve changed, gotten lighter. The Zamanzi say each person is many more beings than they think. That makes shapeshifting easy.”

“Who listens to them?” Azizi touched his throat. “My uncle or one of my father’s masters paid Zamanzi to poison my family. I’m the only one who survived.”

Awa hid her shock that the emperor wished to trade stories with her. “My good-citizen father sold me to Green Elders and sent Mother to a transgressor hut, for love of your Empire.”

“For love of jewels and coin more likely.”