The Final Strife

“Anoor, I know I have lost your trust, but this will save your life.”

“No.”

Sylah exhaled through her nose, her jaw clenching.

“Anoor we have to go, now, please. Please do this for me.” Sylah was begging. Sylah was using please.

“No,” Anoor said. “This news only proves the importance of this trial. Sylah, I have to win, because we know the wardens aren’t preparing for the tidewind like they should be. We know so many truths now and I can fight for the Ghostings here better than I could by leaving.”

“Anoor,” Sylah’s voice cracked and Anoor looked away from her dark eyes. “Anoor, they’ll hunt you down. They’ll hunt me down.”

“Then go, save yourself. But I’m not leaving.”

“Please.” Again.

“No, Sylah.” Anoor’s shout echoed around the empty chairs. “You know why? I’ve realized a world run by people who think they are better will never be better for everyone.” Anoor could taste the bitterness of her own smile. “I didn’t want to fight this fight, but I was the only one who could. Not because I’m better but because I’m not one of them. And that’s a start. But I will thank you for one thing. You’ve given me just about enough anger to ensure I win.”

Nuba formation seven. Right hand reaching for left toe, hips turned to the right, left hand reaching to the sky.

“Anoor, I’m so afraid for you,” Sylah whispered. Though Anoor closed her eyes, she imagined the tears pooling in Sylah’s.

“You once told me to use my fear like building blocks. And that’s precisely what I’m going to do. I’m going to rebuild this empire whether you’re here to see it or not.”

Sylah didn’t respond, and after some time Anoor cracked open an eyelid to check whether she was still there. The intensity of Sylah’s gaze nearly brought her to her knees.

“Remember to make us plates of fried yams,” Sylah said softly.

And when Anoor didn’t reply, Sylah added, “I love you, Anoor.”

Anoor shut her eyes tight against the rush of feeling she felt at those words. Anger marred it all.

When she opened her eyes again, Sylah was gone.

—

Sylah rolled the joba seed between her finger and thumb. It was all she had left. That and the remains of her dress. Sylah patrolled the perimeter of the arena waiting and watching for the Sandstorm, avoiding the officers as they too searched for the crazy woman who’d knocked Gio out. Audience members had begun arriving, the chances of freedom shortening. The Ghostings would leave with or without her.

Sylah rubbed her brows. Anoor was right about all of it. Except one thing. Anoor was better. She was kind and honest and intelligent. She would break the world and build it back up again. Block by block.

Sylah’s tongue probed the gap in her teeth where the joba seed belonged.

“Sylah.”

She turned at the sound of his voice. Kwame had found her.

“Sylah, did you find Anoor? Did you convince her not to fight?”

Sylah shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“She’s stubborn, that one. But maybe she’ll be okay, maybe the people trying to rig the fight won’t hurt her…” Kwame’s hand reached for Sylah’s shoulder and squeezed. “Is that a joba seed?”

“Yes.”

“Sylah, you can’t take that…I helped Anoor with the verd leaf remedy all those mooncycles ago. I know it was for you. Don’t turn back now. You’ve been doing so well.”

She laughed. “Have I? I still get seizures or prickling in my limbs every day. Every single day.”

Kwame’s expression clouded over. “How much did you used to take?”