Rise of the Dragon

CHAPTER ONE

The dragon’s spines cut into the soft meat of my palms as I flatten myself along Maha’s back. We dart through the clouds, toward the sun that burns the sky. My face is tipped to the light, and there is no ache in my chest for once, no tension caught or decision to make. Here, I am nothing but Moremi.

You see the earth as it is now?

Maha’s voice is loud, clearer in my mind in the year that has passed since she was born. She’s more than big enough now to bear my weight, insisting I experience the skies with her. I think it’s more to do with the fact that she can’t be without me, but I humor her anyway, not wanting to admit I feel the same. Maha is the only one in my life that I don’t feel like I need to perform for. I reach for the slow warmth of her idan, letting the magic wind through my veins.

Moremi, do you see it?

I twist, taking in what lies below, the seven kingdoms and the seas in between. Green and blue, all created and shaped by the old gods, Yida and Dam. No one has seen them since the Dírágónì ceremony when they fought the emi buburu, but I imagine them to be resting, letting their dragon child grow in their absence and cement her power, Yida no doubt deep in the hot earth and Dam skimming the sky as it bleeds into the dark cold.

Pay attention. That is what we need to achieve.

“What do you mean?” I ask. The words are whipped out of my mouth by the wind, but Maha hears them as always.

I had a vision again.

I say nothing for a moment, letting the cold numb my nose and lips, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness as the dragon hangs on a particularly strong current. Her visions have been more vivid lately.

More unsettling too.

“Was it the same as before?” I ask.

The dragon doesn’t answer, but she floods my mind with the same images she’s been showing me for months now. The palace jutting from the land like rotten teeth, all the fields and forests charred to blackened stumps. Maha’s visions are exactly what Yida revealed to me when the dragon gave me her egg. The end of Kwa, the gods’ chosen kingdom, where the most pious are gifted the ability to channel the dragons’ idan.

A true unification. That is what we need. And the only way that our kingdom, that all kingdoms, will be safe.

I nod, shivering at the immediate thought that rises. Destruction, war. Addaf used the ọba to try to steal the dragon gods’ power, bringing chaos and death to Kwa by releasing the shadow spirits. Balance only regained by offering myself to the gods and calling them to cleanse the world during the Dírágónì ceremony.

Everyone seeks safety, but some do it at the cost of others. If we are joined, then that has less chance of happening.

Addaf will not be the last; there will always be people who seek more power. I press into Maha’s back, frowning against the bright slant of sun. It’s not like I disagree with her, but I need to have something more to tell the council. To convince them that we must encourage a union. While the dragon is right that there is safety in a merging of the kingdoms, I’ve searched the scriptures for anything that will back us up, will solidify our cause when we meet with the elders, and there is nothing.

It will just have to be a decision based on what I say, and the odds of them agreeing to that are not . . . favorable. Kwa has never used its power against any of the other six kingdoms, but neither has it ever allied itself with them. With the might of the gods’ idan, there has never been a need to, and ceding any power by sharing the dragons’ blessings has never been on any leader’s agenda. The elders have all maintained that Yida and Dam created the world as they intended, and it is not our place to change it.

It must be done. Or the visions will come true.

I push my face against the dry rasp of Maha’s scales. She twists her head to look at me with her gold-­and-­silver eyes, and I try to smile. The thought of bringing all this up with the council makes me feel sick. The young god sees this, and I feel a pulse of her idan, sent to soothe me. I take deep breaths and allow it to wind through me.

Maha dips her wings and, cutting through a haze of pink clouds, dives toward Mandara Moun­tain. Her images of destruction stay flickering through my mind, overlain with mine, as the peak grows in size. The council will be waiting for our daily meeting. Maha’s idan has calmed me. I take a breath. Now is as good a time as any to suggest a union, I decide. The meeting is my best chance to persuade the elders, to ensure that our visions of destruction do not come true. I am oloorì and Kwa’s leader; they will have to listen to me.

But the words of a new leader do not mean immediate change, as I have found out on many occasions.

I cluck my tongue, wishing we could stay in the air a little longer. I’m not looking forward to the barely concealed sneers and changing decisions of the elders as we sit for hours debating which farms should be allocated assistance with rains and whether a contingent of iyalawos should help heal some traders from the south. And then I realize the tone of my thoughts, the push of annoyance, and I feel more guilt. This is my job, my purpose. I should be honored, not annoyed.

Smoothing my frown, I lie flat as Maha continues her descent.

The white columns of the sky temple are stark in the dazzle of the late afternoon, but my eyes are on the door that is still too small to see in detail from such a distance. I wonder if my mother has led Yida’s prayers or if she is already in the meeting space. My stomach dips at the thought of her constantly assessing gaze and so I slow my breaths to calm myself.

We land close to Yida’s stones, a large henge arranged in her shape. I take a breath and slide from the back of Maha, the tiny scales of the dragon images on my wrist and ankle releasing me. The meadow is bathed in the burnt orange of an encroaching sunset, and I roll my shoulders and look up at Maha as she towers over me.

The council meeting will be starting soon. You will be late.

“I know. I just want a little bit more time.”

Her body is a warm purple slink as she curls her tail around me, shielding me from a hot breeze. The elders will be gathering already, and I know there will be eyes cut when I arrive, whether I am early or late; I’ve learned it doesn’t matter which one. I let out a sigh. If I go in calm, then I can usually get through a meeting without wanting to use Maha’s idan to pluck at their souls just to give them a little scare, to remind them who I am, what I am capable of.

But I don’t want to use that power. Who knows what more than a sip of the new god’s magic will spark in me? I don’t even channel Yida’s and Dam’s idan as much anymore, scared of how it made me feel before.

When we were searching for the dragons in the Sambisa Forest, I had felt invincible, the idan of both gods burning through me. I had been determined to unite Yida and Dam so that they could perform the cleansing of the emi buburu and save our kingdom. But it had consumed me. Memories rush back, of Zaye following me as I blazed along, my mind flooded with the gods’ power, unaware of anything other than idan. And then the girl tumbling over the chasm. I shake my head to dislodge the recollection, blinking hard. I never want to feel that out of control again.

I tip my head back and search the skies for the old gods, even though I know I won’t find them. It’s not just me; the pious ensconced within the monasteries, who track the dragons, haven’t seen them in the year since they completed the Dírá­gónì ceremony and cleansed the lands of the shadow spirits. Some say they are in hibernation, others say they still need to rest and recover, and a few whisper of Maha taking their place and displeasing them.

Almost reflexively, I press my soles against the pulse of Yida’s idan beneath the earth, welcoming the heat of it, even as my fingers flutter in the air, toying with the frost of Dam’s magic.

They bless us still.

But that is all I do, a little test to see if I can. I lean against Maha’s side and wrap my arms around her neck. When I’m with her I feel peace. The iridescence of her scales, now as large as my torso, blurs in the sun. “I remember when you could curl in my lap.”

And now you are in mine. Maha chuffs lightly, pleased with herself.

“Almost,” I laugh, stepping away to straighten my wrapper. “Come. Let’s make an entrance. When they see you with me, I’m hoping they’ll have no choice but to agree to whatever I say.”

Today the council meeting is being held in the palace, a nod to the visiting heads of the villages from all over Kwa. I climb back onto the dragon, the marks on my wrist and ankle glowing again as they help lock me into place in the dip of her spine. Maha bends her head, stretches out her wings, and then leaps into the air. My teeth crash together even while I’m smiling at the power of the god.

Hold on, Moremi.

Maha throws a glance over a violet shoulder, checking that I’m in place, forever concerned about me.

“I’m fine!” I shout back. “Go faster!”

Let’s give the elders a show, I think as the dragon banks to the left, heading toward the walls of the palace. Raffia trees encircle the giant building, with the market space to the south of the gates. The day is ending and the last of the light hits the yellow stone, gilding it so that it looks as if it is made from pure gold.

I narrow my eyes at the sight. The palace still doesn’t feel like home. I picture my old room deep in the belly of the mountain and feel a sudden yearning for the homemade throws, the silk tapestries of Yida, and the scrolls I always had piled next to a curl of blankets. I have not stayed in the earth temple for months now—­Iya says it would send the wrong message. All I know is that I have lost my home. At least, that’s how it feels.

We swoop down to the roof, which has been repurposed as a landing spot for Maha, who is now too big to enter most of the building. I might have misled the council about meeting on the roof for this reason, feeding them explanations of searching the skies for the old gods. I’m hoping that a reminder of Maha and our bond will impress the village heads and sway the elders into accepting what we propose. And if they don’t . . . well . . . I don’t have another plan apart from ordering them to obey me, and even I know that would be taking things too far.

Maha glides through strands of cloud, keeping the fading sun to her back so that it will seem as if she has exploded from the dying star itself. I can make out the chairs set in concentric circles, tables groaning with steaming bowls of rice, and servants milling around in white wrappers and agbadas. Iya stands in the center of a group of higher iyalawos and babalawos, Bannu beside her. The principal priestess and priest turn their heads first, the sound of Maha’s great wings alerting them to our presence.

We draw closer and see the scowls of the council, a guiding committee supposedly but one I’ve found to be more interested in telling me what to do and, worse, expecting me to just do it. Council members Fidele and Kanube come slowly into focus. I push my face against Maha’s side to hide my smile at the pinch of their expressions. They both take a few shuffling steps back. Despite never having drawn on anyone’s soul idan since the battle at the monastery, the young dragon still frightens them. Iya turns as Maha’s landing sends a shudder through the roof.