The Yoruba language symbolizes the maji’s connection to their gods and their history, as well as that connection’s precarious state. After the Raid, King Saran criminalized the language, which is what maji and divîners use to cast spells and pray. This effectively kept many of Zélie’s peers from learning the language much or at all—something they must remedy if they wish to be able to both understand their history and overthrow the monarchy. The Yoruba language itself, then, becomes both the connecting force between the maji and their gods—and between the maji and victory.
Yoruba Quotes in Children of Virtue and Vengeance
The moment magic breathes under my skin, I can’t find my voice. The purple light of my ashê glows around my hands, the divine power that fuels our sacred gifts. I haven’t felt its heat since the ritual that brought magic back to Orïsha. Since Baba’s spirit tore through my veins.
I stumble back as magic bubbles inside me. My legs go numb. Magic shackles me to my past, dragging me under despite how hard I pull—
“No!” The shout echoes against the ritual walls [...]
“Yoruba is sacred to our people. It’s not just something you can learn.”
“This is bigger than that,” I wave my hand. “For skies’ sake, we’re at war—”
“Our magic isn’t about the war!” Zélie shouts. “Our incantations are the history of our people. They’re the very thing your father tried to destroy!” Her chest heaves up and down and she shakes her head. “Titans have already stolen our magic. You can’t steal this, too.”
Do you accept these people as your own?
Will you use your strength to protect them at all cost?
The burden of her questions expands in my chest as I look to the Reapers gathered around Mâzeli. Bimpe watches with fingers pressed to her lips. Màri frantically waves her hand, almost immune to the gravity of the moment. Though I’ve only known them for a few hours, they already feel like blood. Like home. Being around them feels more right than anything has felt in years.
“After the Raid, practicing these incantations was the only part of him I had left.”
My heart sinks in the echo of his words. In my mind, Kâmarū still whispers these incantations, but without the father he loves. Without the magic that was meant to run through his veins.
[...]
As we walk, I think of the other elders and maji, what their lives might’ve been like before the Raid. Mâzeli’s already told me how the monarchy took both his parents away. How his sister Arunima perished from grief.
“Everyone, fill the bags with as many scrolls as you can. Kenyon, burn the rest.”
“Amari, you can’t!” I whip around, blinking as the ringing sensation in my ears grows louder. [...]
“These are sacred incantations,” I explain. “Histories of our people that will be lost to time!”