The Lies of the Ajungo

Tears are precious, his mama always said. Don't waste them on your enemies. Save them for your friends.

It had been so long since he'd had the freedom to cry. That's what crying was—freedom. You could cry when there were no more urgent responsibilities. Only when there was no one watching you who depended on your strength. Only when the people around you wouldn't take advantage of your tears. Only when you had enough water in your body.

In exchange for water, the Ajungo demanded the tongues of every citizen of the City of Lies. It was a twofold price, a price of blood and a price of history: an untongued people cannot tell their story.

A man will give ya work and name it a gift.

They knew that all of history was a lie told to instill fear in those whose fearlessness could have rewritten it.

Go in peace.” She meant it when she said it. That was why he had refused to go with them, or to allow them to come with him. He didn’t want peace.

He buried the bones. Then he said a prayer for the soul of the departed, that it would find water and shade, and that it would be remembered truly.

Tears are precious, his mama always sadi. Don't waste them on your enemies. Save them for your friends.

You must learn. Only by learning can you free us.

evil in one place is an evil in every place.

And the gods answered his prayer. They said no.

There are no heroes in the City of Lies.

Adults are always scared. They hid it in a million ways—caution or confidence, disinterest or anger, a firm hand or a warm embrace or sage advice—but the fear was always there if you knew how to see it.

A man will give ya work and name it a gift