Read an Excerpt From Forged by Blood

In the midst of a tyrannical regime and political invasion, Dèmi just wants to survive…

We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Forged by Blood by Ehigbor Okosun, the first book in an epic fantasy duology inspired by Nigerian mythology—publishing with Harper Voyager on August 8.

In the midst of a tyrannical regime and political invasion, Dèmi just wants to survive: to avoid the suspicion of the nonmagical Ajes who occupy her ancestral homeland of Ife; to escape the King’s brutal genocide of her people—the darker skinned, magic wielding Oluso; and to live peacefully with her secretive mother while learning to control the terrifying blood magic that is her birthright.

But when Dèmi’s misplaced trust costs her mother’s life, survival gives way to vengeance. She bides her time until the devious Lord Ekwensi grants her the perfect opportunity—kidnap the Aje prince, Jonas, and bargain with his life to save the remaining Oluso. With the help of her reckless childhood friend Colin, Dèmi succeeds, but discovers that she and Jonas share more than deadly secrets; every moment tangles them further into a forbidden, unmistakable attraction, much to Colin’s—and Dèmi’s—distress.

The kidnapping is now a joint mission: to return to the King, help get Lord Ekwensi on the council, and bolster the voice of the Oluso in a system designed to silence them. But the way is dangerous, Dèmi’s magic is growing yet uncertain, and it’s not clear if she can trust the two men at her side.

CHAPTER 9

BETWEEN

As we pass into the forest, the slivers of moonlight die away, and darkness swallows us up. I send out a wind spirit, and we follow its pale light into the darkness like moths drawn to a flame. I can barely see the thin, orange wisps of magic swimming in the air, the thread Colin made to track Lord Ekwensi’s Oluso sign. And after a short while, I can’t tell which direction we’re going. We slow to a walk. Benin Forest is silent, steeped in deep slumber, and it is this, more than anything, that raises the hairs at the back of my neck.

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Forged by Blood

Soon, we hear low thuds, a soft beat like a gangan drum drawing its listeners into tales of joy and sorrow. Slivers of moonlight break through the trees, cutting into us like several pairs of eyes. A loud hoot comes, and Colin jumps before spotting the glowing yellow eyes of an owl peering at us from a nearby tree. The bushes nearby rustle in the wind, and the air hums and buzzes with the flutters of insects scaling trees. The earth dances, spreading around my toes. I clutch Jonas’s shoulder for support. The forest is alive.

Jonas presses close. “What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure.”

Mummy used to tell me that the forests of Ifé were a different world altogether, a part of the Spirit Realm attached to our world, but not wholly connected to it. As a girl, I would follow her into Ikolé Forest and watch as she hunted around for kwasho bugs and elu. To me, it was magic enough that we could tap the kwashos’ back with a small stone and they would open their shells and spill out gold dust. The elu leaves stained our fingers indigo before we could grind them up and dry them to make the indigo dye the traders craved. It was obvious, to those who had eyes that could see, that the forest was special, that the trees had a way of singing, and the rusty earth beneath our feet shifted ever so slightly as we pressed into it. Magic was there, in the richly colored flowers and the long, ridged backs of palm trees and winding sycamores. In the tinkling sound of small brooks scattered around, and the chirps of birds picking at seeds on the ground.

This, though… this feels different.

A whisper catches my ear, and I whip around. Jonas tightens his grip on my shoulder. I shake him off.

“What is it?” he asks.

Another whisper. A laugh rings out.

“Did you hear that?”

He widens his stance, alert. “I heard it that time.”

“We need to get moving. Could be an Eloko. It’s nighttime,” Colin says, breaking into a sprint.

Grabbing Jonas’s hand, I run after Colin’s quickly disappearing frame. The Eloko love to play tricks on unsuspecting travelers, and I have no desire to be caught up in one of their night dreams. There were hunters last year who went missing for a fortnight. When they finally reappeared—with swollen eyes and wrinkled skin, their bodies aged considerably—they revealed they had stumbled upon Eloko territory and made a deal with it. They asked for riches and power, enough to experience over a lifetime. They lay on the forest floor for weeks, shrouded from discovery, living out their wildest dreams whilst their bodies were drained of life. I can’t think of anything I want so badly as to give a portion of my life for it, but even if I could, I do not want to play Eloko games.

We run blindly, shoving through bushes and scraping past trees, but the whispers and laughs follow us, and in a few minutes, we are standing again by the giant yew tree with the owl watching us silently from above.

“Dèmi,” Colin says, his voice tight.

“I don’t know. I need to think. Hold on.”

Mummy’s voice brushes my ears: Dèmi, the forests are a gift. They remind us of what we came from. Many fear the forests, because they do not understand them, but you have nothing to fear. The same kind of magic that flows through you birthed the forests. If you are ever in trouble, ask the forest for help.

I take a deep breath, calming myself as much as possible. Then, folding my palms out, I call out, “Ìyá, help me.”

A voice answers, deep and rumbling, wrapping around me like a warm coat. “What ails you, my child?”

I look around. There is no one to be seen. Swallowing, I push back my growing fear and continue. “Ìyá, we come seeking shelter and safe passage, but we cannot find our way.”

“My child, this is your home. Your path will always be clear here. Just open your eyes.”

An array of twinkling green lights appears in the darkness, swarming around us like bees. We huddle together, Jonas and Colin on each side of me. The lights grow, spreading into thick wisps of smoke, and the sound of drumbeats arises once more, but now with the pounding there is singing, rich voices humming a wordless song. I open my mouth and sing, following along in this tune I cannot name, echoing sounds I never knew I had.

Then the singing stops, and the smoke begins to clear. The twinkling lights fade until there are four left. One brushes against my outstretched palm before gliding over to the yew tree from earlier. There it transforms, growing into thick shadow, the leaves on the ground below kicking up in the wind surrounding it. The shadow moves into the circle of moonlight now cutting straight through the trees, and I see her. Orange-brown coily hair, with a pointed face, and thick, curved, branchlike hands. Several white marks stretch diagonally across her brown face in an orderly pattern, and small white dots line her eyes. She smiles and her marble eyes glow in the moonlight.

“Omoyé, you are welcome here.”

I move automatically, offering a ceremonial bow: knee bent, hands clasped. “Thank you, Auntie. I come in peace.”

She makes no sound as she walks, but the ground rumbles as she moves toward me, roots snaking up in places where her long, webbed feet touch. As she touches my shoulder and pulls me up, I spy a small red flower peeking between her toes, but when I blink and look again, it’s gone.

“What is that?” Colin mutters.

I stiffen, clutching at the woodlike fingers on my shoulder. “I am sorry, Auntie. He has never seen a tree spirit before. Please forgive his ignorance.”

She throws her head back and laughs, loud barks like the shrieks of a hyena. Colin, to his credit, looks sheepish.

“I am Yawara, but you may call me Auntie Ya,” the spirit says when the echoes of her laughter die.

She waves and the three remaining lights transform. One is a small girl with a fully marked face, long, fanning ears like an elephant, and glowing yellow eyes. The next two are clearly a pair—a man with dreaded hair and curved blue marks on his dark cheeks matching a woman with golden feathers adorning her flaxen hair and the same marks carved into her bronze skin.

But it is what lies beyond them that holds my attention. Gone are the twisting trees, the rocky ground, and the thick, heavy dark of night. I stand in a clearing with soft grass kissing my feet and periwinkle flowers littered about, heads dancing in the breeze like a ball bobbing on water. The trees seem thicker and taller than before, with colorful bushes that sprout from their bodies. Tufts of gold, red, and green twist up their trunks shining eerily in the sea of blue light the moon drowns everything in. In the valley below, water spirits in their true forms glide on the surface of a river, weaving gossamer webs. Wind spirits dangle about above their heads like stars in the sky, sparkling with light for all to see. And at the crest of the valley, there are bigger trees, giants that meld together at their tops in odd shapes, with yellow light pouring through round, windowed openings and leaves shrouding angled protrusions—Aziza tree houses.

It’s the most marvelous thing I’ve ever seen.

Auntie Ya thrusts her arms wide. “Welcome, young ones, to Benin Forest.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jonas whispers. If I didn’t know better, I would accept the reverence in his voice as just that, but after what happened nine years ago, I can’t stop ugly words from tumbling out.

“So beautiful you want to conquer it?” I ask, smirking. “The forest spirits are stronger and craftier than you think. You can’t kill them as easily as you slaughter our kind.”

His head snaps back and I think I glimpse sadness in his eyes. But in a blink it’s gone. He offers me a sharp smile. “They say conquest is the truest form of worship.”

I glower. “You dare to say that here? You really want to die.”

“I deserve that.” His smile softens into something resembling reverence. “But I have no interest in conquest. This is my first time seeing something like this, is all.”

I hate his soft, reasonable response. I hate that I want to apologize. I hate that I nearly responded, Me too, as though we could ever have anything in common.

Auntie Ya glides over to him. “The forests are a halfway point between the Spirit Realm and the physical. We do not intentionally hide its gifts, but you must understand: many of the forest spirits are peaceful and have no wish to war with humankind. The Oluso were once our mediators, those who protected our lands, and bridged the gap between us and humankind.” She sighs heavily. “But the Oluso are too fragmented to continue that work now. So, we share what we can. We leave our fruits available for those who wander into our territory. We don’t begrudge the hunter their prey, the wine tapper their drink, or the woodcutter a share of our bounty. Every now and then, we help travelers on their way through our lands. But we keep ourselves hidden to all except those Ìyá deems worthy.”

“Ìyá?” Jonas asks.

“Mother,” Colin says. “It means ‘mother,’ right, Dèmi?”

Auntie Ya shoots me a questioning glance.

“Ìyá is the mother spirit who watches over the forests,” I explain, then I bow once more to Auntie Ya. “Forgive them, they were never taught the ancestral ways.”

The forest spirits are ancient, older even than Oluso. As Oluso, we can channel different spirits according to our bloodlines, but we must always be careful of the forest spirits—respectful—especially since we’re passing through their lands. Though the elemental spirits—wind, water, light, darkness—are covenant-bound to protect the souls Olorun sent into the physical realm, the forest spirits are charged with balance. They move freely between realms and have no qualms about dragging someone they deem ill-fitted to life into the shadowy depths of the Spirit Realm.

To my surprise, Auntie Ya laughs again, that unsettling sound making my stomach tighten. “He knows more than you think.” She points to the bond between Jonas and me. “After all, he was wise enough to pair himself with you.”

She can’t be serious.

I hide my disrespectful thoughts with an amused smile, concealing the mix of horror and pleasure at her suggestion.

Colin snorts. “There’s nothing between them,” he says. “We’re just trying to keep track of him.”

The flaxen-haired tree spirit cocks her head. “It doesn’t look that way to me,” she says in a tinkling voice. She squeezes the male tree spirit’s arm. “Don’t you think so, Obi? That’s what we said when our families were asking about our pairing. Look at us now.” The male spirit nods, the stern look on his face briefly altered by the soft look he gives the flaxen-haired spirit.

Colin takes my hand in his. “Actually, Dèmi and I are promised.”

I feel a flicker of annoyance, but he’s not lying. Two years before, Colin and I talked about becoming mates if we couldn’t find another person we could trust the way we trusted each other. It was a toothless vow between friends. I haven’t told him I’d rather be alone. Still, I know Colin is only trying to satisfy the spirits’ curiosity.

I pinch his elbow—hard. “We’re working things out. We’re not ready to be bonded,” I say, quickly. I steal a glance at Jonas, but his brow is creased, eyes focused beyond. I follow his gaze, but there is nothing save trees and darkness at the edge of the clearing.

Auntie Ya smiles, bemused. “Ìyá opened the passageway for you, so there must be something you need. Might I ask why you are journeying through our lands?”

“We’re on our way to Lokoja, and we didn’t want to take the merchants’ road,” I answer. We need to keep things simple. Keep from saying anything that will offend. Human squabbles are little more than entertainment for forest spirits, but conflict is the perfect excuse for them to pass judgment. They might find it hard to understand why I kidnapped Jonas, even if his uncle would destroy their children—the forests they’ve protected all this time—if he were to learn of their existence.

Colin furrows his brow at the half-lie. Jonas grins when I shoot him a meaningful look.

Keep your mouth shut, I will him silently.

“I see. Is that all you wish to tell me? You have no need of anything else?”

“We need nothing else,” Colin says, offering me a slight nod.

I know I’ll have to explain later, but it’s times like this I’m thankful he’s here. For all his foolery, Colin knows me better than anyone else.

Auntie Ya claps. “In that case, it’s a good thing I brought Chi Chi.” She beckons to the young tree spirit, and the girl bounds forward, her ears flapping excitedly. “This is Ogechi. Chi Chi for short. She is one of our best seekers. She will help you find exactly where you need to go, and she’s useful when you encounter wild beasts.”

Chi Chi sidles up and sniffs me before Auntie Ya pulls her back. “Abidèmi is your elder. Greet her first.” I flinch, wondering how she learned my name, when Chi Chi lets out a series of whistles and twitters.

“Chi Chi is better at speaking Ologiri than anything else. She does understand Yoruba and Ceorn, but she is young and to her bird speech is the most interesting thing right now. She and her parents, Adé and Obi, have volunteered to guide you through Benin Forest.”

Obi offers a small nod, then starts off, marching toward the river below. Adé shakes her head, the feathers in her hair ruffling with the movement. “As opposed to our daughter, my mate isn’t much interested in any speech. Come. There are a few things we must share.” She twines her arm around Jonas’s free one. “You are unattached still, yes?” He reddens and she smiles pointedly, flicking her gaze to me before turning her attention back to him. “Don’t worry. We’ll soon change that.”

She tugs him forward, but I pull back with my bound hand, jerking him to a stop. “I don’t mean to offend, Auntie, but we’re in a hurry. We need to get to Lokoja as soon as possible. We don’t mean to intrude. We just want to find the way and leave.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Ìyá called you here. We can only show you the way you must go. We can’t interfere.”

“So,” Colin starts, “what you’re saying is we can’t leave?”

Her feathers fan out as she answers, and I’m reminded of a peacock, proud and imposing. “When it is time, you will be sent on your way.”

“When?” I ask, trying to keep panic from my voice. Time passes differently in the Spirit Realm. We need to meet Ekwensi as soon as possible. Any delay might create unforeseen consequences. I can’t afford to fail this mission—not when the fate of the Oyo Oluso is resting on me.

But if the tree spirits don’t help us, and we end up back in the forest, there’s every chance the guards will capture us.

A sharp tingle races up my arm as Auntie Ya touches me. “Do you mistrust us, Abidèmi?”

“No, not at all,” I say, shaking my head vigorously.

Chi Chi tugs at the hem of my skirt and slips her hand into mine, smiling at me with those golden, pupilless eyes as though she understands. It is that, more than anything, that makes me calm down. “We will do things as you wish.”

There are children younger than Chi Chi who will be taken from their mothers this year, children like Amina and Rollo. All because of the gifts they were born with, and the tainted blood that flows through their veins. Even if Auntie Ya can understand, accept the truth of what we are doing in this forest, I can’t take the risk.

Auntie Ya considers me as though she sees my very soul, and I hold my breath, trying to ignore the shame coiling in my belly. Finally, she nods. “Let’s go on then. There are a few waiting to greet you.” Chi Chi erupts into more whistles and runs to the end of the clearing, leaping up and gliding into the air like a bird catching the wind. Adé latches onto Colin as well and walks on, with Jonas on the other side. I hang back with Auntie Ya, walking quickly enough to keep the bond between Jonas’s hand and mine from growing taut.

“Before I forget,” Auntie Ya says quietly, “the Aziza wanted me to pass along a message.”

“What is it?” I ask, words tumbling and breathless.

“It is time, dear child, to pay your debt. Life for life and blood for blood.”

“But it’s not yet my eighteenth—” I stop short. In the hassle of the last few days, I’d forgotten. Eighteen years before, on this day, the moon and Mama Aladé were my mother’s only witnesses as she clutched the earth with her bare hands, holding a wad of dried bitter leaf in her teeth as her hips rocked up and down, a ferry struggling to bring her child through the sea of her womb into the world. But the eighteen years aren’t what matter, not really.

No, what Auntie Ya is reminding me of happened nine years ago, while I lay in the darkness calling for my mother, poison slowly draining me of life—the day I called out and the Aziza found me. Since then my name days have been marked with sadness, the remembrance of my mother’s blood seeping into the ground while mine was being cleansed from the sting of death.

I swallow as I realize what this means. What Adé meant when she said I was brought here for a reason.

Today, I am eighteen, and it is my turn to die.