Reaper of Souls

by Rena Barron

  Rudjek leans close to me and says, “I have to join them.”

  I nod, and he strolls forward, the trepidation gone and the swagger back in his step. Kira points out the place reserved for his guards. I move to sit with them, which starts an uproar among the loyalists who had been quiet when Prince Derane spoke.

  Once the crowd quiets again, Emere stands up from her spot among the loyalists. She looks formidable with her head high and her shoulders back. “I volunteer to speak for the Temple,” she announces. “We talk about showing respect to the orishas, but no one speaks for them today.”

  “Oh, yes, we should have a representative from the Temple, on that we can agree.” Suran waves for her to join them on the first tier as Rudjek settles in the chair to his right. Suran’s voice is deceptively friendly. When Emere puts one foot on the steps to climb up to the tier, he clears his throat. “There is one matter to clarify. One cannot be the voice of the gods unless the gods speak to them.” He turns a cold, biting smile on Emere. “Do they speak to you, child?”

  Emere freezes on the steps, her face twisted in panic. “No.” Her fire from only a moment ago cools to embers.

  “It seems to me that the gods have spoken with their silence.” Suran sighs. “For too long, we’ve displeased them by embracing magic, and now we must make amends for our insolence. Lord Re’Mec warned us in the holy script that magic would be the end of mortal kind, and see how it has brought so much death upon us.”

  I clench my fists on my lap as several people agree and call for Emere to take a seat. She glances at me on her way back to the bench, her eyes begging, but I look away. It was a mistake coming here. Suran Omari is impossible to reason with—there’s no point in trying. Yet I can’t let him get away with disrespecting Emere and the Temple. He’s gotten away with too much already. My legs tremble as I come to my feet. I don’t know why I’m doing this, or what I hope to gain.

  “I can stand for the Temple,” I say, pushing back my doubts. “The gods speak to me.” Several people at the assembly can attest to this—Rudjek, Majka, Kira, and the cravens.

  All eyes turn to me. People whisper, some laugh, and others cheer. I feel like a caged animal waiting to perform tricks at a street fair, but I’ve committed to this course.

  “Arrah N’yar—daughter of Ka-Priestess Arti, traitor and murderer of children.” Suran leans forward, his eyes burning with disdain. “I thought you’d still be mourning the loss of your entire family.”

  I will not let Suran Omari provoke me. “The Kingdom would be laid to waste had I not stopped my sister with magic, and I carry the souls of the five chieftains. Who better to speak for the Temple?”

  “Hasn’t your family done enough?” someone shouts. “The Kingdom doesn’t need your kind anymore.”

  Suran raises a hand, a look of satisfaction on his parted lips. “I will allow her to speak for the Temple if she wishes.” His voice has an edge to it that makes me think I’m walking into a trap.

  I swallow my nerves as I approach the stairs leading up to the first tier. I expect Suran to pull another trick when I start to climb, but he holds his tongue. People gawk at me—some with hate and some with hope in their eyes. I cross my arms like the gesture can shield me from them. I catch Tyrek staring at me, too, still on his knees, his shoulders slumped. His eyes are hollow black pits. I force myself to look away.

  “We are most thankful to have this child speak on behalf of the orishas if it is their will,” Suran says. “You don’t mind standing, do you? We seem to be short on chairs.”

  I can almost feel his hatred buzzing under his skin. I remind myself that although he has craven blood, he hasn’t died and returned; his heritage is dormant. He is no threat to me. “I’m quite fine.” Fine as long as I stay far away from you.

  “That simply won’t do.” Rudjek abruptly comes to his feet. He beckons for two gendars, who rush from the shadows at the rear of the stage. “Take her my chair.”

  The smile slips from Suran’s face as Rudjek moves to stand at his side while the gendars bring the chair to me. He turns back to address the crowd. “We have gathered today with great purpose. It brings me no joy to see my cousin fall to such tragedy and betrayal. We have pored over the evidence and corroborated the witnesses’ stories.” Suran takes a deep breath like he has a heavy heart.

  The audience jeers and slings insults at the disgraced prince on his knees. For his part, Tyrek doesn’t even flinch.

  “To ensure that this trial is fair and just, I will put the matter to a vote,” Suran continues. “Each of the guildmasters, the Temple, and I will give our vote to determine the final verdict.” He waves to the open double doors where twelve men in all black with straight swords at their waists rush inside the coliseum, carrying a litter. They place it on the ground, and the crowd whispers to each other. Rudjek casts a confused look my way.

  Three people climb from the litter—a man and two veiled women. The woman in front lifts the delicate fabric of her veil with practiced grace. Her diaphanous brown skin stands out against her red braids pinned up in a bun. The woman in the middle wears white silks trimmed in gold—the Omari family’s colors—but she doesn’t remove her veil. The man is in black with a straight sword at his waist and stands close to her.

  “I asked for a delegation from Galke to serve as a neutral party to this matter,” Suran explains. “They have heard the facts in the case against Second Son Tyrek.”

  “This is preposterous,” Prince Derane shouts as the delegation climbs the first tier. “You’ve brought outsiders to rule on my nephew’s fate?”

  “Of course not,” Suran says. “The Galke delegation is only here to bear witness.”

  “I am Prefect Clopa,” the one who removed her veil says. “I am the adviser to Princess Veeka.” She nods to the woman in the white-and-gold silks. “It is our honor to lend aid to our allies.”

  Suran turns on a charming smile that makes him look too much like Rudjek for comfort. “We are most thankful.”

  The delegation passes me without a glance. Prefect Clopa moves to stand on Suran’s left, between him and the Master of Arms. The woman in the white-and-gold silks takes a place to Rudjek’s right. The Galke man remains to the side, not far from me, but his eyes never leave the princess as he rests his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “For the record of this assembly, I will read the charges against Second Son Tyrek Sukkara.” Suran pauses as an attendant hurries forward to hand him a scroll the length of his forearm. He clears his throat and begins. “The charges are as follows: Conspiring and carrying out the murder of the Almighty One, Jerek Sukkara, your father. Conspiring and carrying out the murder of Crown Prince Darnek Sukkara, your brother.” Suran drones through a list of names that includes the seers, gendars, and attendants. “Conspiring to kill anyone who opposed you—myself included. Desecrating sacred orisha statues. Allowing demons to terrorize our city, costing the lives of three thousand citizens. The complete destruction of the five tribes . . .”

  I go still when he mentions the tribes. Thirty thousand tribal people had attended the Blood Moon Festival months ago. How many escaped before the demons attacked? Will there be enough to help me stop Suran from claiming their lands for the Kingdom’s profit?

  When he finishes listing Tyrek’s crimes, the audience roars with anger. People curse and fling insults; and some jump out of their seats, shaking their fists and spitting. Tyrek drops his head and his whole body trembles. I don’t allow myself to think of the torture he’s endured. I only want to get this over with and go search for the survivors in the tribal lands.

  “Well, Second Son Tyrek, do you have anything to say for yourself?” Suran asks.

  Tyrek lifts his chin, and even in his diminished state, he bears a look of defiance at odds with his predicament. “Should I repeat the speech my jailers forced me to commit to memory, or should I improvise?”

  If he had hoped to get under Suran Omari’s skin, his words miss their mark. Suran gives him a
sympathetic smile. “Try starting with the truth. This is your only chance to earn back a shred of dignity before it’s too late.”

  “As I’ve told you countless times before, Efiya made me hurt people.” Tyrek squeezes his eyes shut and jabs a finger against his temple. “She was in my mind—she controlled my every action.”

  My heart pounds against my chest. Is he saying what I think he is? It can’t be.

  Tyrek opens his eyes again. “But that isn’t what you want to hear, correct? You want half-truths.”

  I sit forward, grasping the chair, dread flooding my chest. Magic flares inside me again, and I want to strike Tyrek down. I want to put an end to this nightmare. He is the last loose end.

  “Enough lies, boy,” Suran snaps. “Let the vote begin.”

  My sister turned children into ndzumbis to have playmates. She made a child cut off his finger and smile while doing it. If what he’s saying is true . . . if Efiya forced him to commit treason . . . to kill his own family . . . I inhale a sharp breath.

  The guildmaster to the far left of the tier, a gaunt-faced man with a neatly trimmed beard—Tyrek’s uncle on his mother’s side—casts the first vote. “I, Guildmaster Ohakim of the Laborers’ Guild, vote guilty.” There is no hesitation in his voice as he condemns his nephew.

  Next to him, Suran’s twin sister, General Solar, wears a face of indifference. “As head of the Military Guild, I also vote guilty.”

  Kira’s father, Master Ny of the Scribes’ Guild, sitting to the right of Princess Veeka and Rudjek, votes next. He’s a prudish man of Estherian lineage, with porcelain skin and bone-straight hair like his daughter’s, who has a reputation for his moderate views. “I vote to postpone the trial until we can investigate his new claims.” His vote sends a flurry of whispers through the coliseum.

  “I second the vote to postpone,” adds the Master of the Scholars. She is the oldest of the guildmasters, with snow-white curls against her dark skin. She yawns like she’s unimpressed by the heckling from the crowd. She, along with the other guildmasters, looks to Suran, and he turns to me.

  “What say you, the voice of the Temple?” Suran asks, his question laced with sarcasm.

  “He . . .” I lick my dry lips and look around the assembly. So many faces peer at me from the shadows—people who deserve justice and closure. Everyone seems to be holding their breath, waiting on my answer. I don’t want this burden, but it’s mine to bear. “He may be telling the truth about my sister. I vote to postpone.”

  The crowd erupts again as Tyrek breaks down into uncontrollable sobs. My belly twists in knots, and I immediately wish that I could take back my words.

  Suran Omari raises his hand, his face riddled with false concern, and I know that I have played into his trap. The crowd falls silent so he can speak. “Surely Tyrek’s claims can’t be true,” he muses. “The Sukkaras—and the Omaris, for that matter—are protected from magic. Perhaps the voice of the Temple can give us an explanation.”

  I shrink under the sudden weight on my shoulders. Suran Omari’s black eyes shine with glee. He’s outmaneuvered me, and I’m a fool not to see it coming. This trial isn’t only about Tyrek’s guilt or innocence. Suran wants to prove that magic is dangerous. He wants to erase its influence—that’s why he’d tried to discredit the Temple loyalists.

  “We’re waiting,” Suran presses. “Is there a way that Second Son Tyrek could be telling the truth?”

  “Yes,” I hiss, and my voice is raw. “My sister was powerful enough to turn people into ndzumbis to command at her will. Even the craven bones the royal family wears would not have protected them.”

  “I understand that your mother possessed that talent as well,” Suran says, leading. “Can you also put another person under your control?”

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head, but that’s a lie. “I wouldn’t do it if I could.”

  “Ah, I see.” Suran clucks his tongue. “It seems that the orishas have been right all along. Magic is dangerous in the hands of mortal kind. Let us all bear witness to the corruption that magic has brought upon our citizens.” Suran gives me a sidelong glance, his expression triumphant. I’ve walked right into his carefully laid trap. “To protect the Kingdom, I hereby ban all unauthorized use of magic until further notice.”

  Eleven

  Rudjek

  People in the audience yell, curse, and spit at the line of guards standing between them and the stage. The noise echoes in the coliseum, creating pure pandemonium, and my father lets it play out. He counted on this reaction. He can’t ban magic. The tribes may be gone, but there are enough people here in Tamar who still possess it in small amounts. Gods, Arrah. She’s gone completely still, her eyes two golden orbs of fire. Her skin practically glows, and her magic feels like the serrated edge of a tobachi knife cutting me deep.

  “You forget yourself, Vizier,” Prince Derane shouts over the crowd, using my father’s official title. Vizier of the Almighty Kingdom, second to the Almighty One before my father seized control. “You are only acting Almighty One. You have no authority to ban magic. The Sukkaras will stand with the Temple against you.”

  “Fair enough, Prince Derane.” Father holds up his hand in a peace offering, but I don’t buy it for one moment. He’s got something else up his sleeve. “We will table the conversation about the dangers of magic for the next assembly meeting.”

  I grit my teeth as sweat trickles down my back. My eyes land on Fadyi, Jahla, and Raëke. They’ve managed to work their way up to the front of the first tier. I follow their intent stares; all three watch Arrah, waiting for her next move. They can’t really think that she’d use magic here. As they draw closer to her, the stabbing pain in my gut relents. Arrah deflates, sinking in the chair, looking miserable. Her magic subsides, and I relax a little.

  “You see now, don’t you?” Father leans close to me. Although his face is calm, his words hum with animosity. “This is why I’ve long warned you about her kind. Those with magic will always sow discord.”

  “Arrah isn’t your enemy,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Why can’t you understand that? She’s not like her mother or her sister.”

  Princess Veeka clears her throat from behind me, and I tense. My father would’ve only invited the Galke delegation to drum up more support for his bid to keep the throne. It takes a moment for me to remember my manners. I’ve moved closer to my father and inadvertently turned my back to the princess, an act of disrespect in the North.

  “My apologies, Princess.” I adjust my position so she’s in my line of vision.

  “Not to worry, Crown Prince,” Princess Veeka says. “I’m not as old-fashioned as most in my family, nor do I expect anyone outside Galke to know every single one of our customs.”

  I meet her eyes, which are an iridescent violet beneath her sheer veil. “That’s good to know.”

  “I’m intrigued by Second Son Tyrek’s claims,” Princess Veeka remarks.

  “As am I,” Father says, but he’s lying through his teeth. He must have known what Tyrek would say. He’d planned to use it as a reason to further his agenda against magic. “This new information is certainly worth investigating.”

  New information, my ass. I don’t know what exactly my father is playing at this time, but I know it’ll be something else I won’t like.

  “Did Efiya bewitch him into doing her bidding or not?” shouts someone from the audience.

  Arrah’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “It’s possible, but I can’t say for sure.”

  My fingers twitch in my gloves, and I want so badly to go to her if only to let her know that she isn’t alone.

  “Is there any way to corroborate his story?” asks Guildmaster Ny to Princess Veeka’s right.

  “She can,” Tyrek cries out, angling his body toward Arrah. “Please help me . . . please show them the truth.”

  Arrah looks to me, her eyes begging. I shake my head, not bothering to be subtle about it. She doesn’t have to do this. It doesn’t matter if he’s
guilty or not. People will still want blood. If it’s not his, then it’ll be hers.

  “I’ll try,” she says, her voice small.

  My father signals the end of the session, and the gong rings to make it official. “I will postpone judgment until we can get to the bottom of this new development. We will adjourn for now.”

  The solution seems to appease the crowd—and I ease out a sigh of relief. As soon as my father dismisses the assembly, I cross the tier to Arrah. “You don’t have to get involved with this mess.”

  “I can’t let someone else take the blame for my sister’s deeds,” she says, choking back tears. “You know that, don’t you? I can’t.”

  No point in arguing with her when she’s like this. She’s more stubborn than a mule with his head up his ass. “I know.”

  “Have her brought to the palace tomorrow.” My father croaks out the order, then turns to the Galke delegation. “It would be my pleasure to give you a tour of our beautiful city.”

  I’m sure it would be his pleasure. I can see him now spending the entire tour securing Galke’s full support. He’ll already have Delene on his side through Adé. With both, the Sukkaras won’t have a chance against him if the guildmasters confirm his appointment.

  “I need to get out of here,” Arrah groans.

  “Let me accompany you to your father’s shop,” I offer as the loyalists congregate at the foot of the first tier, waiting for her. “We haven’t spent much time together since you’ve been back.” Never mind that she’s only been in Tamar a couple of days.

  She massages her forehead. “I’d best deal with Emere and the others on my own. Will I see you tomorrow at the palace?”