Chândomblé Term Analysis

“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!”

“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.

My chest falls as Mother marches forward with her tîtáns that still stand. As she walks past the carnage in her path, I know she’s right. Our enemies are gaining ground. We need to eliminate every asset they have. But how long can both sides keep going like this before we destroy Orïsha?