Orïsha is an extremely violent place. Years before the Legacy of Orïsha trilogy begins, the now-deceased King Saran conducted what’s known as the Raid. During this time, Saran brutally murdered every divîner and maji over the age of 13 and instituted laws and taxes turning divîners and those who associate with them into second-class citizens liable to be raped, beaten, kidnapped, or killed at any time. The violence Saran espoused extended to his nuclear family too—he forced his young children, Amari and Inan, to train with swords and hurt each other. In the present, even though Saran is now dead, both Amari and Inan still suffer the consequences of their father’s violence, while Zélie and her fellow maji still live in fear of the monarchy and its violent, oppressive aims. Through characters’ memories of and relationships to violence experienced in the past, the novel illustrates that violence is something learned—it passes from parents to children and from governments to the populace, thereby training everyone to believe that violence is the only answer to one’s problems.
In considering the trauma that all the novel’s characters have experienced, it’s important to keep in mind that most of them, when they turn to violence, are reacting directly to their memories of past traumatic events and the damage caused by those events. Though this certainly doesn’t help matters, this thought pattern is a normal response to triggering situations—and of not having the time or space to healthily heal from trauma. In this sense, everyone in the novel who has experienced past trauma is set up to fail in coming up with better, healthier solutions for how to deal with what’s happening in their present. Their first reaction—and, they often believe, the only viable action—to violence or scary situations is to respond in kind. This means that in practice, even many acts of genuine kindness or attempts at intimacy are seen as tools to break down one’s defenses and then commit more violence. As a result, Orïsha’s population is not just violent, but distrustful of everyone—even allies. Further, the widespread violence that King Saran carried out means that there are few or no people in Orïsha without unresolved trauma, whether it’s because they’re maji whose families were murdered or because they’re kosidán who won’t be spared during brutal raids on settlements containing maji or divîners. Everyone, in this sense, is stuck in a cycle of fear, mistrust, and violence that seems unbreakable to many.
The maji, and especially the group of 10 clan elders that Zélie and Amari join, are uncomfortably aware of the trauma, death, and violence that their predecessors have experienced. This includes both the traumatic deaths of many of their parents during the Raid, as well as the deaths of children like Zu and Salim mere weeks before the novel begins—in addition to instances of abuse of power that have happened at various points throughout Orïsha’s history. The maji understand that they are simply the latest victims of a battle that’s been going on for many years, and dealings with the current crop of monarchs have made it very clear to them that violence is the only way to make a point.
Zélie in particular is driven by the fact that Inan’s betrayal led to her father, Baba’s, death at the end of the last novel. In her mind, the only way to make things right and avenge the deaths of everyone who has died at the hands of the monarchy is to kill Inan, and in doing so, topple the current leadership. Similarly, while Amari spends much of the novel advocating for diplomacy and peace talks with Inan, Inan’s constant double-crossing, combined with his and Amari’s mother Queen Nehanda’s refusal to recognize Amari as her daughter—let alone the future ruler of Orïsha—eventually transform Amari’s point of view. She comes to agree with Zélie: killing Nehanda and Inan is the only way to make things right. Even Inan eventually comes to accept the inevitability of violence: when his peace talks and attempts to reason with both Nehanda and Amari fail, he concedes that the war is going to end with his death. All of these instances in which characters turn to violence tend only to lead to more violence—and as a result of the many people who die, characters like Zélie then spend much of their time mourning for those they lose. In this sense, while Zélie recognizes the need for a way to put an end to the bloodshed, she still cannot identify a way to end it—and so the bloodshed will continue.
The novel’s most poignant way of illustrating the dangerous costs of violence is through the trajectory of Ojore, Inan’s adoptive cousin. Ojore comes from a noble family that died in the lead-up to the Raid, supposedly at the hands of bloodthirsty Burners (maji who control fire). Because of this, he grew up hating magic, and began to loathe himself and hide it when he developed his own magical powers. When Ojore believes that Inan betrayed him and all they stand for, Ojore’s rage and desire to lash out at the people he believes hurt him (in essence, his desire to perpetuate the cycle of violence) ends up backfiring. Ojore cannot control his emotions and so heartbreakingly tries to kill Inan, his childhood best friend—but Nehanda, a mother figure to him, heartlessly kills him instead. Though as the second in a series, Children of Virtue and Vengeance doesn’t fully resolve these issues, its treatment of Ojore overwhelmingly shows that violence isn’t a fruitful solution. Perpetuating the cycle of violence leads only to more pain, trauma, and heartbreak.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Cycles of Violence ThemeTracker
Cycles of Violence 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 [...]
“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.
“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.
“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.”
“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?
“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.”
All these years I thought Father was a monster, but what if ruling this kingdom forced him to act that way?
“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.”
“No one ever asks, but you’re here. You’re here when so many people aren’t!” Roën grabs his head as if he could pull out his hair. “You survived the Raid. The guards. You survived the wrath of a king. You’re not a victim, Zélie. You’re a survivor! Stop running away!”
I look back, not recognizing the monster that wears Ojore’s face. We did this to him. We poisoned him with all our hate.
Now we shall pay the price. I can’t even pretend he isn’t justified. He deserves retribution for all the blood on our hands. All of Orïsha does—
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.”
