“Egungun, Egungun, Egungun! The sound shores up Gray-Beard’s limbs. He plays the drum until his hands are calloused. His heartbeat tunes to the rhythm. The drum is part of him now, and swallows his name. Egungun—and so we must now call him, for Gray-Beard is no more—laughs with every painful step. Gray-Beard knew nothing but shame, but Egungun is wise. See his feet swell with love for those he has hurt! See him pity his enemies, who will someday die and walk the path before him!

“Hear a song rise in Egungun’s heart. There are many verses, but time has lost them. This part, however, I know:

Walk on, beloved, walk on!
There is life at the end of the world.

“Will you sing now, to strengthen him? I will, for what else is a griot’s purpose?

Egungun, I hear him! He was the first man.
Egungun, my ancestors’ ancestor.
Egungun wins souls with the beat of his drum—
Egungun, he leads the parade.”

Then Adukeh, every muscle in her body shaking with fear and triumph, swept a solemn bow. From behind me I heard fervent applause—Zuri, standing and clapping. I did the same, and the nobles reluctantly joined in, scowling at Adukeh as she scrambled off the stage and my attendants ushered her away. Only then did I address the court, smiling tightly at the crowd.

“Here is the part that you will like,” I said, voice reverberating through the courtyard. “My akorin did not finish her story. Egungun reaches the gates of Core. The Ira, guardians of all souls, invite him in, but Egungun refuses to enter. He knows that every other human soul will suffer on their journey, as he did. So he returns up the path, and to this day, we hear Egungun’s drum pound through the Underworld, guiding tormented souls to their final rest at Core. Giving hope to all who join Egungun’s Parade.” I paused. “Today, I give all of you a chance to turn back. To redeem yourselves for the abuses, the poverty that flourished under your watch. You may get away with it now . . . but will you escape the consequences on your journey to Core?”

To my endless relief, some of the nobles actually appeared chastened. But most of them scoffed, and loudest of all were Zuri’s warlords, jowls shaking with laughter.

“Is this why you have come all this way, Imperial Majesty?” called the boldest one—a warrior with elaborate bone piercings—grinning at me with gold-capped teeth. Zuri had warned me about him: Lord Gakuru, overseer of Djbanti’s largest limestone quarries and tanning houses. “Do you mean to scare us with cookfire tales? Either your throne has power to enforce the laws it passes . . . or it does not. This very Pinnacle is a show of weakness. We are not children to be chastened with wagged fingers.”

The warlords chuckled. I heard Zuri shift behind me, and though I knew he could not show it, rage was rippling through him.