The Burning City (Spirit Binders) by Alaya Dawn Johnson

her eyes dart involuntarily to Kohaku’s missing left hand. War might unleash the fire spirit? And wouldn’t he know? The disaster had destabilized everything, not the least of which was the death spirit. She didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if death broke free. A dark age, Kohaku had said. And here she was, a black angel, at the center of it.
    She shook her head. “I need to ask you about the fire temple, Kohaku,” she said. “It’s said you’re close to them now—especially Makaho, the head nun. Do you know what they were doing prior to the disaster? Surely the spirit’s restlessness must have made itself known there at least.”
    She had carefully phrased her question to avoid any reference to his own wrongdoing, but he still stiffened imperceptibly and looked away from her. She felt a pang of regret. But they were so far from her first home. They could never again share the camaraderie of teacher and student.
    “Makaho?” His mouth twisted. “She stole my wife. I keep relations with her in the hope of getting Nahoa back.”
    Lana didn’t think that the wary girl with the baby would let anyone steal her, but didn’t say so. She was here to find Akua, not antagonize the Mo’i.
    “But still, you must know more than I do of what the fire temple is scheming.”
    “If you’re asking if I think Makaho had a hand in the disaster, of course not. She was as surprised as all of us. All of us.”
    He glared, as though daring her to contradict him. She raised her eyebrows. “Kohaku. I’m just looking for my mother.”
    This seemed to blunt his righteous anger. He blinked.
    “Your mother?”
    “She lived—lives here. She disappeared right before the eruption.”
    For a moment he looked genuinely grieved. “Oh, Lana. I’m so sorry. But, have you looked. . .I mean, it’s been months. I’m about to add all the missing to the rolls of the dead.”
    It only made sense, but she remembered those tattered missing posters, those forlorn hopes. “You’re right,” she said. “But they’ll hate you for it.”
    He laughed. “They already hate me. It’s quite liberating, the scorn of public opinion. But, Lana, your mother—”
    “ Isn’t dead. Don’t ask how I know. But she disappeared right before, and I know that the fire temple is involved.”
    “I’ve never seen your mother here, Lana. The city is huge. I doubt I’d even recognize her after so many years.”
    She sighed. “But I believe another woman was with her. An older woman with a gravelly voice and graying hair. Missing her right arm.”
    She watched his expression carefully as she said this, but she needn’t have bothered. He blanched so pale even young Sabolu could have determined the news perturbed him.
    “Have you seen her?” Lana prompted.
    “No!” he nearly spat out the word as he leapt from his chair. “No, I’ve never seen any one-armed woman. Someone else who nefariously sacrificed herself for the spirits, right?”
    No wonder everyone suspected him of helping the fire spirit. He wore his guilt like a habit. And yet she wasn’t sure if he was lying. Perhaps Akua had plotted something with him, but she rather doubted it. Akua liked her associates either more clueless or more cunning. Kohaku was too helpless a mixture of both.
    “I meant nothing at all, Kohaku,” Lana said as gently as possible. “It’s just her distinguishing characteristic. Are you sure you never saw her? Or heard anyone else speak of her?”
    He relaxed slightly, but his mouth still turned down in an oddly familiar scowl of derision. “No, I’ve never heard of anyone, anyone at all, matching that description.” His pause was small, but his eyes had widened as though he remembered something.
    She stood herself, so she didn’t have to tilt her neck quite so far back to meet his eyes. “Are you sure, Kohaku? It’s terribly important. I must find my mother.”
    He fiddled with his left sleeve. “Of course I am. I’d help you if I could,