Prologue

Urghh… I didn’t expect to wake up.

These days, seeing another morning had become something of a grace. When illness had lived in your body long enough, you learn not to assume that closing your eyes at night means you will open them again.

For a moment I wasn’t even sure I had. Perhaps I had finally crossed into Ayéla and my ancestors were somewhere nearby waiting for me to notice them. I lay still for a while, but nothing happened. No ancestors, no Lyara.

Surely if I had finally made it to Ayéla, she would have been the first person waiting for me.

Something warm pressed against my skin and I frowned. Ooh, what was that? Ah, the fireplace. The flames must still have been burning nearby, low but strong enough for the heat to reach me.

So this is clearly not Ayéla. I am still here.

Then came the smell, wood smoke, burning resin and the sharp bitterness of crushed healing leaves.

Ah, that smell.

How I would miss it. I almost smiled at the thought because it was the same smell that had followed me for days and I had spent every one of them wishing I would never have to breathe it again.

I tried to take a deeper breath and immediately regretted it. Pain tightened around my chest and forced the air back out of me. I stayed still until it eased, breathing carefully through my nose.

That was when I heard the singing outside.

So they were still singing.

I had heard that song at enough deathbeds to know what it meant. I just never imagined I would hear it at my own.

My eyes moved slowly around the room and I saw that they were all still there. Edo sat near the entrance with his carved staff resting between his knees. Joya was beside him, his prayer beads sliding quietly through his fingers. Baba sat with his head bowed while Sesi hid behind her little palm fan whenever her eyes became too wet.

Then there was Goran. I almost smiled.

The man had argued with me nearly every day since we left the capital, yet there he stood against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and absolutely nothing to say. Perhaps dying had finally taught me how to silence him. I should have tried it years ago.

Makeva and Zola sat farther back and neither looked as though they had slept. Zira stood in one corner while Rani remained near the entrance, both of them still watching everything despite the exhaustion written across their faces.

The person closest to me was the one I noticed last.

She was holding my hand, her thumb moving slowly over my skin again and again. I turned my head and there she was.

My little girl.

Zuri sat beside me with her head bowed over our joined hands. Her braids were still done the same way they had been for weeks now and she looked as though she had not slept at all.

I wanted to scold her. Seriously, staring at me all night wasn’t going to keep me alive. But I knew my daughter. She would probably tell me to stop talking and save my strength, so for once I kept my mouth shut.

Instead I looked at our hands.

Hers was wrapped around mine and for the first time I wondered when my own had become so old.

I remembered when these same hands could lift her over my head while she screamed at me to put her down, only for her to scream even louder when I did. A smile pulled weakly at my mouth.

She had been difficult even then.

No, perhaps difficult was unfair.

Stubborn.

Yes, that was better.

Lyara always said she got that from me and I always insisted she got it from her. Looking at Zuri now, I wasn’t so sure. She had changed so much from that little girl and yet somehow not enough.

“You look so much like her,” I said.

Her head lifted so quickly that for a moment she simply stared at me. Surprise came first, then relief softened her face as though hearing my voice had given her something she had been waiting for all night.

“Abah.”

She was already leaning closer when a cough caught me. It tore through my chest hard enough to fold me forward and before I could wave her away she was on her feet with one hand pressed against me.

“Easy, Abah easy.”

I waited for my lungs to remember what they were supposed to do.

Her palm stayed against my chest massaging me even after the worst of it had passed.

“You frightened me,” she whispered.

I managed a weak smile. “I am still here.”

Something in her face softened at that, only a little but I saw it.

She slowly sat beside me again.

“You said I look like someone.”

I watched the surprise still lingering on her face and smiled faintly. “Who else?”

“Mama?”

“Mm.”

She looked down, but not before I saw what the name had done to her.

“You look so much like her,” I said again. “And yet there is something in you I never saw in either of us.”

Her eyes returned to mine. “What?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Her brows pulled together. “That is not helpful, Abah.”

“I am dying. You cannot argue with a dying man.”

The little softness in her face disappeared immediately.

“Don’t speak like that. You’re still here.”

“I am not gone yet.”

She pressed her lips together in that way she always did when she had too much to say and knew none of it would change anything. This time she didn’t argue. She just watched me, her eyes moving slowly over my face as if she were trying to remember every line of it.

I knew what she was doing.

I pretended I didn’t.

There are many things fathers forget to say because we convince ourselves there will be another morning, another meal, another argument and another chance to say what we kept putting aside.

I no longer had the luxury of believing that.

“Zuri.”

She seemed to return from somewhere far away.

“It is time.”

Her eyes were already shining when she shook her head.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I am going to say.”

“I do.”

Of course she did.

I looked down at her hand wrapped around mine.

“When I am gone, they will turn to you.”

“Abah…” The word came out so helpless that for a moment I wished I could take everything back.

“Listen to me.”

“I am not ready.”

“No one is ready before, Zuri.”

She looked at me.

“Readiness is a story people tell after they survive the thing that frightened them.”

Her fingers tightened around mine.

“What if I fail?”

“You will.”

Her eyes widened and I smiled weakly.

“Probably more than once.”

Somewhere behind her came a small sound and I knew without looking that it was Goran. I would have laughed if breathing were not already taking so much effort.

“You will make mistakes,” I told her. “You will anger people. You will doubt yourself. None of those things give you permission to stop.”

She looked down again.

“And don’t spend your life trying to become me.”

Her eyes lifted.

“Or her.”

“Mama?”

I nodded.

“You are ours, but you are not us.”

For a moment she said nothing. Then, very quietly, she asked, “What did you mean before?”

“About what?”

“That there is something in me.”

I looked at her.

“I meant exactly what I said.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

She frowned and I smiled.

“But I think you will.”

Zuri fell quiet again and her thumb returned to my knuckles.

My eyes drifted past her.

For a moment I could not remember who else was in the room. Edo, Joya, Baba. Yes. They were still there.

“When I am gone…” My voice sounded weaker now, almost unfamiliar.

Zuri’s fingers tightened around mine.

I stared somewhere beyond her shoulder. Something seemed to move there, though I could not tell if it was a person or just the shadows shifting near the doorway.

“Stand with her.”

Someone answered, but I could not make out the words.

“Don’t let them decide for her.”

“Abah…”

I looked at Zuri again and noticed her cheeks were wet.

When had she started crying?

“Liora.”

Her lips parted. “You haven’t called me that in years.”

Hadn’t I?

I tried to raise my hand to her face, but my arm no longer seemed interested in obeying me. She caught it before it fell and pressed my palm against her cheek herself.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

Her skin was warm beneath my hand.

Then suddenly I could not feel it.

The pain was gone too.

I opened my eyes and Zuri was below me.

She was bent over the bed, holding the hand of an old man whose chest barely moved.

Mine.

I stared at him, then at her, and it took me a moment to understand what I was seeing.

That was me.

Zuri leaned closer.

“Abah?”

I tried to answer, but nothing came.

She couldn’t hear me.

For the first time that morning, fear found me. Not because I was looking at my own body but because my daughter was still holding my hand and I could no longer feel hers.

Not yet.

Something moved near the doorway and I turned.

At first, I thought someone was standing there.

Then the wind passed through the room and brought with it a scent I had almost forgotten.

My whole being seemed to recognize it before my mind did.

“Lyara?”

There was no answer.

Only the wind and somewhere within it a sound that almost felt like her laugh.

“Abah, please.”

Zuri.

The room rushed back all at once. Pain returned to my chest, heat pressed against my skin and the smell of smoke and healing leaves filled my nose again.

Her face hovered above mine.

“Abah?”

I could barely see her now.

The wind moved outside and suddenly I remembered what I still needed to say.

“Listen to the wind, Liora.”

She leaned closer.

“It carries her voice. When it calls, follow it.”

Her brows drew together.

“Abah, what do you mean?”

I wanted to answer.

I really did.

But my body had nothing left to give me.