Excerpt from Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I grab Mama Agba's hands and bow my head, diving deep to show my respect. "I promise, Mama. I won't let you down again."

"Good, because I have something and I don't want to regret showing it to you."

Mama Agba reaches into her kaftan and pulls out a sleek black rod. She gives it a sharp flick. I jump back as the rod expands into a gleaming metal staff.

"Oh my gods," I breathe out, fighting the urge to clutch the masterpiece. Ancient symbols coat every meter of the black metal, each carving reminiscent of a lesson Mama Agba once taught. Like a bee to honey, my eyes find the akofena first, the crossed blades, the swords of war. Courage does not always roar, she said that day. Valor does not always shine. My eyes drift to the akoma beside the swords next, the heart of patience and tolerance. On that day … I'm almost positive I got a beating that day.

Each symbol takes me back to another lesson, another story, another wisdom. I look at Mama, waiting. Is this a gift or what she'll use to beat me?

"Here." She places the smooth metal in my hand. Immediately, I sense its power. Iron-lined … weighted to crack skulls.

"Is this really happening?"

Mama nods. "You fought like a warrior today. You deserve to graduate."

I rise to twirl the staff and marvel at its strength. The metal cuts through the air like a knife, more lethal than any oak staff I've ever carved.

"Do you remember what I told you when we first started training?"

I nod and mimic Mama Agba's tired voice. "'If you're going to pick fights with the guards, you better learn how to win.'"

Though she slaps me over the head, her hearty laughter echoes against the reed walls. I hand her the staff and she rams it into the ground; the weapon collapses back into a metal rod.

"You know how to win," she says. "Just make sure you know when to fight."

Pride and honor and pain swirl in my chest when Mama Agba places the staff back into my palm. Not trusting myself to speak, I wrap my hands around her waist and inhale the familiar smell of freshly washed fabric and sweet tea.

Though Mama Agba stiffens at first, she holds me tight, squeezing away the pain. She pulls back to say more, but stops as the sheets of the ahéré open again.

I grab the metal rod, prepared to flick until I recognize my older brother, Tzain, standing in the entrance. The reed hut instantly shrinks in his massive presence, all muscle and strain. Tendons bulge against his dark skin. Sweat rains from his black hair down his forehead. His eyes catch mine and a sharp pressure clamps my heart.

"It's Baba."

Excerpted from Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi. Copyright © 2018 by Tomi Adeyemi. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.