Power and Systems of Oppression Theme Analysis

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 [...]

“I can’t be expected to carry the plight of my people forever.”

I tuck away my white streak, wishing I could just chop the lock from my hair. Tzain may not notice the way Zélie looks at it, but I always catch the snarl it brings to her face. For so long, she had to suffer because of her gift. Now those that hurt her the most wield that magic themselves.

I can understand why she despises it, but at times it feels like she despises me.

“But the return of magic and the birth of tîtáns are living proof that we are finally returning to the Orïsha the gods have always wanted for us! We’re so full of hatred and fear, we’ve forgotten what blessings these abilities are. For centuries these powers have been the source of our strife, but the gods ordained us with magic so the people of Orïsha could thrive!”

“For so long we’ve been defenseless against the havoc the maji wreak, but now the gods have blessed us as well. We’re powerful enough to annihilate them, Inan. The only way to achieve lasting peace is to cleanse the maggots from this land.”

Her words make my fingers grow cold. To cleanse Orïsha of maji would be finishing Father’s work. It would be another Raid.

“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.”

“These rebels burned your city to the ground. They wanted you and your people to starve. They are the poison of Orïsha! If you do not cut off the hand now, eventually you will be forced to sever the entire limb.”

I clamp my mouth shut, digesting her words. I know as long as these rebels terrorize us, every maji in Orïsha will be seen as a criminal. The Iyika have to go.

But despite knowing this, my insides twist as Ojore grabs the Burner by her hair.

Even before Mother interrupted my rally, the support of the Orïshans didn’t touch the boundless joy of these maji. I wonder what it would be like to be embraced like that. To actually have a place where you belong.

[...]

I nod, beginning to understand what it means to be an elder. All this time I assumed it was like occupying the throne, but now I realize that it’s so much more. It isn’t simply a position of power. An elder forms the foundation of their clan’s home.

“If you’re going to be an elder, you need to understand that true magic isn’t about power,” I explain. “It’s something that’s a part of us, something that’s literally in our blood. Our people have suffered for this. Died for this. It’s not something you can just learn. You may have helped us get it back, but right now we’re still being hunted and killed for the very magic tîtáns like you use against us.”

“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!”

“No!” I jerk up, wincing at the pain that shoots up my side. “This temple may be the oldest Orïsha has. It holds the stories of our past!”

Though Chândomblé wasn’t created for me, I feel its pulse like the beating heart of this land. I remember wandering its hallowed grounds in search of Zélie’s path moons ago. Kneeling before the portrait of Ori. This temple was the one place that could quiet the noise in my head.

“I do not think you’ve gone far enough,” she says. “You speak of this war as if it is the start, but the maji and the monarchy have been fighting for decades. Centuries. Both sides have inflicted great pain on each other. Both sides are filled with mistrust.” [...] “You cannot blame Zélie for her actions any more than you can blame Inan for his past mistakes. You have to look beyond the surface if you truly want to achieve the peace you seek.”

“This war didn’t start when magic came back, Inan. You are only seeing the end of a battle countless have given their lives for. By winter’s dawn, we will have wiped the scourge of maji from this land. Even your wretched father couldn’t achieve that.”

“Mother, what are you talking about?” I grab her arm. “We’re fighting the Iyika. Not the maji.”

“We’re fighting them all. We have been for decades. This war started long before the Raid. It began before you were even born.”

Even from afar, I see the blackened corpses that lie in the streets. Corpses that lie there because of me.

I picture Inan and Mother among the dead.

I picture my best friend.

Strike, Amari.

Father’s voice fills my mind as the tears fill my eyes. Though I breathe, my chest stays tight. It feels like I’m being buried alive.

“Orïsha waits for no one,” I whisper the words. “Orïsha waits for no one.”

I will the words to be true as I ride through Ibadan’s gate.

“He attacked the king. That foolish boy killed himself.”

It’s the last sword in my gut. I’m surprised when I don’t feel blood. Ojore saved me more times than I could count. He needed me today.

But instead of backing him, I let him down.

I let Mother sacrifice him for the throne.

“He was right,” I whisper. “We’re poison.”

Strike, Amari.

I pull at my hair, wishing I could pull his claws out of me as well. His whispers are like the bars Kâmarū crafted from stone, a prison I can’t escape. For so long he was the scar on my back. The tyrant I had to vanquish.

How in the skies did I allow his ghost to become my guiding force?

“I see the truth now. We pretend that magic is the root of our pain when everything rotten in this kingdom begins and ends with us. There’s no helping it.” I clench my fist. “Amari proved that in Ibadan. This throne corrupts even the purest of hearts. As long as it exists, people will continue to tear this kingdom apart.”