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This place, this magical stillness, is the result of my feelings for Keita.
Grim though it may be, it’s my love letter to him. My way of allowing him to say goodbye to his family, even though I never realized I was doing such a thing.
But that is the miracle of the divine.
And that is the miracle of love.
I walk over to Keita, who’s now kneeling by his mother, holding her in his arms. When he sees me watching, he shakes his head ruefully. “I was the one who urged them to build this place,” he says suddenly. “Mother had her doubts, but I wanted a summer house. I wanted to brag to my friends. And I was the precious youngest. So I begged and wheedled and pleaded until Mother said yes. And when Mother said yes, Father, of course, agreed, because he would do anything to please her.
“So he built it, and then we came.” He turns to me, his eyes now filled with a strangely calm acceptance. “And I could blame myself for that—I have over the years—but now I see it wasn’t my fault. I was a child. Barely less than Maziru’s age.” He points to the youngest boy, a child of about eleven or so, eyes peacefully closed despite the claw marks gouging his neck.
“How could a child his age be the cause of all this?” He shakes his head. “No, it was Gezo and the Idugu. They’re the cause of all this.” He turns back to me. “I hope your kelai is here, Deka. I hope you find it and use it to strike every one of those divine bastards where they stand.”
His tone is so determined now, so filled with righteous anger, I don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not here. All I can do is comfort him.
“I’m sorry, Keita,” I say, kneeling beside him. “I’m sorry for everything you endured.”
“It’s all right.” When I turn to him, startled, he nods. “It is. Look at them.” He gestures to his family, his expression surprisingly calm—relieved, almost. “I was so frightened. All this time, I was frightened that they would be in pain, that their bodies would be only bones or, worse, flesh in the same way I remembered them…. But look, they look peaceful.” He strokes a finger over his mother’s hair, his hands lovingly gliding over the dark-brown coils. “And they’re together, all of them.”
He glances up at me again, tears once more in his eyes. “When we first came, I wondered why this place was so well preserved, but now I know: you did this. You preserved their love.”
As I blink at him, he grasps my hands. “I’ve been so afraid of what would happen once you ascended—so much time I spent fearing it. But now I see my fears were for nothing. Because if just a part of you can do so much to honor my loved ones, how much will the entirety of you do when Otera is yours to guide? How much better will everything be?”
I stare at him, speechless. If I were in his position, I would rage against the gods, against everything in this place, but somehow he’s found hope in the face of all this darkness.
And he’s found a way to give me the same. I’ve feared so deeply that I’d become an evil god, an unjust one, but if Keita sees all this in me, believes in me…
I stumble to find the words. “I don’t, I don’t—” Then I see the look on Keita’s face, the determination. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how I can be here for you in this moment.”
“You can bear witness,” he says, rising again. He walks over to the bed.
When he begins to straighten the sheets, I rush to the other side, doing the same. I have an idea of what he’s about to do, but I’ll just follow his lead until he does it.
I watch as he picks up his mother and slowly, carefully deposits her there. There’s so much love in that gesture, I know that he adored her the most, which makes perfect sense, considering how easily and fully he loves me. He does the same with his father and then, once they’re side by side, clasps their hands together so that they can be in eternity as they were in life. That done, he moves on to his siblings, placing them in order of age until finally, his entire family is lying next to each other, their robes smoothed out and arranged around them to hide whatever wounds they might have.
He turns to me, his eyes heavy. “Your kelai—have you found any hint of it?”
“Yes,” I say with a nod. “I have, but it’s not here. The jatu have taken it, as we feared.”
“Oh,” Keita says. “I’m sorry, Deka, I—”
“No.” I lift up a hand, stopping him. “I don’t need that. I know what it feels like now—I know what to look for.” That’s the one bright spot in this whole affair. I know my next steps now. “I don’t need Mother’s body, don’t need some new plan. I know what to do. So you do what you must here. You do what feels right.”
“My thanks,” Keita replies, and then he turns back toward the bed and holds out his hand.
The flame that explodes from it incinerates the sheets in seconds, although his family is a different matter. They remain there, untouched. So he sends another column of flame their way.
As the fire swiftly spreads, consuming everything in its path, I back toward the door. Keita remains calmly where he is, the flame brought to life. It surrounds him, bathing him in a halo of fire.
A whistling sounds as wind suddenly rushes through the house.
Keita nods to me as I exit. “Gather the others for departure. I’ll be down the moment I’m done.”
I nod, and then I begin running.
The last I see of him, he’s standing there, watching his family burn in the funeral pyre he’s made for them. And as I dart out of the summer palace, the flames chasing at my heels, I can’t help but think that it’s not just his family that’s burning but the old Keita as well.
30
