by Rena Barron
“And you’re still questioning my actions when I should have you run through with a sword,” I bite back.
“We would’ve won had we known what we were up against,” Captain Dakte hisses. His voice strains barely above a whisper. “Our swords were useless against the demons.”
“They’re stronger than the ones I fought before.” I don’t like his tone, or that he’s insinuating that I hadn’t been forthcoming about the demons. “I warned you that we needed the Zeknorians’ help, but you didn’t listen.”
“There’s something strange to me, Commandant.” Captain Dakte shifts on his pillows. His movement stirs up the sickening smell of festering wounds, and I keep from wrinkling my nose. “Your closest personal guards are quite competent healers for no training. Fadyi and Jahla, the two who we have no record of ever existing before you returned from the tribal lands. What happened to the third? Raëke, wasn’t it?”
“Is there a point to this line of questioning?” I rest my hands on my hips. The last thing I need is more dissension from him. He still has support among the gendars.
Captain Dakte breaks into an ugly smile. “I think you and your new friends are keeping secrets.”
“Keeping secrets?” I laugh to cover my nerves. Pompous bastard. He’s always been too clever for my taste. “Did the demons take your good sense along with your eye, man? I’ve worked nonstop to forge an alliance with the Zeknorians after you started a war on their soil. I’m not keeping any secrets that would concern you or the Kingdom.”
Captain Dakte narrows his eyes at me. “Who are they really?”
“I don’t have time for this,” I groan. “Do you have the map?” Before Captain Dakte clawed his way up the ranks, he’d been a brilliant mapmaker. The one good thing about him surviving the battle was that he’d seen the layout of the village where the demons have set up camp. With the map, we could mount a better-planned counterattack.
“Yes, Commandant.” Captain Dakte’s hand trembles as he reaches toward a pile of ink bottles and crumpled paper. “I finished it this morning.”
He turns over the scroll, and I take it to one of the tables in his tent and pin it under paperweights. Commander Korr had found a soldier in his camp who’d grown up in the village the demons now occupy. With his help, Captain Dakte has drawn a complete picture. “Best-case scenario, Shezmu is there, but if he isn’t with his men, it’s still the most strategic place to open the gate when he returns,” I conclude.
Captain Dakte grimaces as he presses his fingers against the bandage around his throat. “What makes you think that you can succeed where I failed?”
“I have an advantage over you.” I pick up the scroll and turn to leave. “I know what I’m doing.”
“We’ve not always seen eye to eye, Crown Prince,” Captain Dakte says, ill humor underlining his words. “Yet I haven’t written to your father about the strangeness surrounding you and your friends.”
I spin around to face him, my blood boiling. “Are you threatening me? After I’ve spared your life for what you’ve done?”
“Not at all,” he says, his one eye narrowed. “From everything I’ve seen, you have the Kingdom’s best interests at heart. You may not have the experience, but I suspect your . . . secrets will help us win the next battle.”
I sigh, shaking my head at him. He’s a piss-poor excuse for a second-in-command for always challenging me, but he’s nobody’s fool.
“Glad to know you have so much confidence in my abilities.” I leave him to sulk alone. The air outside the tent smells only marginally better, with the wind blowing away some of the foul odors.
I thrust the map into the hands of the guard. “Have copies made of this by midday. As many as you can.”
The soldier nods as he sets off to carry out my orders. On the way back to my tent, Majka catches up with me. He brushes leaves out of his thick mane and straightens his mud-smeared uniform. I’m glad that he, Kira, and my guardians made it back from the battle with only minor injuries.
“Is Captain Dakte still giving you a hard time?” he asks.
I grimace. Jahla’s scent is all over him, and I know exactly what he’s been doing this morning. “We’re in the middle of preparing for battle, and you can’t keep your pants on for one day?”
“Oh, come on, Rudjek.” Majka slaps me on the back. “Jahla is irresistible, and can’t a man take some solace in these trying times?”
I stop cold, glaring at him. “We lost a third of our army, and that’s all you can think about?”
The smile slips from Majka’s face as his shoulders go rigid. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was on the front line while you were sleeping in your tent.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t die if that would’ve made you feel better,” I say.
Majka keeps up with me as I cut across the camp. We pass Jahla and Fadyi, along with our physicians, tending to soldiers, most of whom won’t be able to go back on the line.
“She isn’t just another girl.” Majka’s gaze lingers on Jahla kneeling to take a pot of water from a campfire. “I really like her.”
“I’ve heard that before.” I don’t know why, but it bothers me that Majka and Jahla are together. It was one thing when I didn’t know his companions, but this feels different. I care about both of them, and I don’t want it to end badly as his flings often do. “You better not break her heart.”
Majka frowns as I pull back the flap of my tent and gesture for him to enter first. “I think I love her.” Before I can discourage this line of conversation, he plops down on the pillows. “You love Arrah, don’t you? Even with knowing that the two of you can never be together?”
“Do you really have to ask that question?” I take off my sword belt and drop my shotels on a table.
“Would you like my advice?” Majka asks.
“Your advice on matters of love?” I laugh, wishing he would drop it. “No.”
“You should let her go,” he offers anyway.
“Excuse me?” I pour myself a cup of water from the pitcher. An attendant left the morning meal on the table hours ago, and I haven’t touched it.
“It’s just that . . . I see you suffering, Rudjek.” Majka looks at his hands. “I bet she’s suffering, too. If you can’t be together, then maybe it’s better to cut the strings now before it hurts more later.”
I’m too tired to argue with him. Leave it to Majka to never soften the blow and give it to me straight. I haven’t thought about what will happen if Arrah and I can never find a way to counteract her magic and my anti-magic. Twenty-gods, I’m in love with a girl that I can’t even touch. The gloves, while a temporary solution, will never be enough. With my luck, I’ll end like that Delenian tale where the prince becomes a grumpy tyrant living alone in an ice castle. I drop onto the pillows to sulk just as Kira walks into the tent. She looks between the two of us and arches an eyebrow. “Is this a bad time?”
I roll my eyes. “Are you here to give me advice on matters of romance?”
Kira sighs as she kicks off her shoes and joins us. She wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “I miss my ama, too.”
“Did you know about Majka and Jahla?” I ask.
She shrugs. “They’re not exactly quiet about it.”
“Not that it’s any of your business.” He gives her a scathing look.
Kira laughs. “Since when is your love life private?”
Majka’s face hardens, and the barest flush shines underneath his cheeks.
“Lay off, Kira,” I warn. Majka really is serious about Jahla. I’ve never seen him like this. Usually, he’d tell us every single detail of his latest adventure, but right now, he’s pissed.
“You tell him,” snaps a voice before Re’Mec shimmers into existence in the middle of the tent. His back is to us while he argues with what looks like thin air. “You said that she’d never be able to find the box.”
I get to my feet as Koré fades into the tent, wearing blue silks from her headscarf to her slippers.
She stands across from her brother, thrusting her finger at him. “You were supposed to keep an eye on the girl!”
Every muscle in my back tenses. The girl. “What’s happened to Arrah?” I interrupt their squabble.
“She’s gone,” Koré says, turning on me.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” I ask, feeling numb inside.
Kira pushes past me. “What of Essnai?” Re’Mec holds up his hand as if offering peace, but Kira slaps it away. “Where is she?”
“Kira.” Majka gently pulls her back from the sun orisha. Her eyes fill with tears as she leans against him for support.
“We felt the gate open this morning,” Re’Mec explains after a deep sigh. “Koré believes that Shezmu tricked Arrah and her comrades into going through it, but I’m less sure of that.”
“That’s not even the worst part,” Koré interrupts him. “The Demon King is free.”
“Arrah freed him?” I dread the answer. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d told her the truth. I should’ve been there for her.
“Would you have so little faith in her?” Koré asks. “No. The short story is that Efiya freed him before Arrah killed her.”
“What . . . ?” My voice grows shrill. “Why would he want Arrah if he’s already free?”
“I’d think that would be obvious,” Re’Mec says. “He’ll want to convince her to switch to his side in the impending war. As I’ve said before, her magic is dangerous.”
One of Koré’s braids slips from underneath her scarf and curls around her neck. “I fear we’re missing something, brother. Daho is one of my children, and I doubt he’d kidnap Arrah just to turn her to his side. He convinced Arti to help him without lifting a finger, so to speak. There’s more to his plans and a reason he took her.”
As soon as Koré says the words, it’s obvious. The Demon King wants something from her—he wants her. The revelation feels like someone’s dropped me in a vat of ice to wake me from a deep slumber and thrust me into a living nightmare.
“If Shezmu’s already opened the gate,” Majka speaks up, “then why haven’t more demons invaded our world? That’s the plan, right? What’s stopping them from attacking?”
There it is. The thought that’s been tugging at the back of my mind. I knew something else had to be at play. Shezmu and his demons have been running us in circles. How could I be so dense?
“That’s a good question for which I have no answer,” says Koré. “For now, the gate still stands in the demon camp.”
I laugh, and it comes out bitter and hard. “It was a distraction so that he could take Arrah—all of it.” I grab my shotels. “We’ll attack the demons today, before Shezmu decides to move his men and the gate. It’s the only way we can get her and Essnai back.”
Twenty-Eight
Arrah
The Demon King watches me with an intensity that feels like it could melt my bones. Dimma’s memories claw to the surface of my mind, fighting for space, festering like old wounds. A flimsy gossamer separates hers from mine—pulled taut like it’s about to tear. I don’t know what will happen when it does.
“Despite what you may think, Efiya loved you, and I love her,” he says.
A twinge of jealousy twists in my belly again, and I want to rip out this treacherous part of me. Am I responding to the news that he loves my sister, or is it Dimma’s reaction? Seeing the Demon King’s devotion to Efiya, I’m suddenly less sure that he is the source of these memories. But if he’s not the source, that would mean something impossible.
Not impossible.
My father once told me a story about witchdoctors who could cheat death. If a mortal could do it, then it must be a simple matter for a god. No, not a god, I realize, Dimma wouldn’t have considered that name for herself. Even that’s another detail I shouldn’t know about her. None of this makes sense—yet there has to be an answer to why I have her memories.
I lift my chin and give him a look of indifference. “My sister could never truly love someone as pathetic as you.”
The Demon King smiles. “I know you’re hurting right now, but jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
I spit on the ground, and he only sighs and starts back in the direction of the hills. The demons shove me forward, and the vest of craven bone rattles and shifts. The heat from the bones seeps through my tunic, and the parts that touch my skin burn.
My friends never liked Tyrek and had seen through his facade from the beginning, but I’ve been a fool. I’ve gotten Sukar killed, and now Essnai is alone in a strange world looking for a way home. I’ve brought nothing but grief upon them.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” I say as the demons march me a few paces behind their master. “Why do you need me to free Efiya when her soul is trapped in your dagger?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment as we leave the forest behind for the grassy hills under the moonlight. It’s only after he lets my question linger in the stretch of silence between us that he finally speaks. “The dagger is finicky. Only the one who took a life can bring it back, and since you killed Efiya, that’s you.”
I don’t miss the hesitation in his voice, like he’s not quite sure that we can bring her back. Wielding the blade almost killed me the first time—wait, no, that isn’t right. It did kill me. Bit by bit fragments of my memories piece together. I stand in a sea of darkness with the orisha of life and death. Fram is magnificence incarnate. They are swathes of light and shadows woven into two symmetrical bodies. Even in my memory, they fade around the edges and bleed across my vision. I want to fall to my knees here and now to behold them forever, but I resist the pull to give in.
I close my eyes and remember the tempered song of their dual voices. They warned me that I must return to the Super Cataclysm to be unmade. Their cooling magic had tugged at me, but I resisted them even then. Fram had taken my memories—just like Daho said. He hadn’t lied about that part—not that it makes a difference now.
I died after killing Efiya, and the orisha of life and death came to reap my soul. So why didn’t they?
“Are you working with Fram?” I shuffle in my shackles. I hate feeling like someone else’s pawn in yet another game. “Did you strike a deal with them?”
“Here’s what I will tell you,” the Demon King says. “The old gods are petty and selfish. They’ve kept us all under their thumbs. Efiya wants to remake the world in her image so that mortals are no longer weak.” He takes a languid breath like he’s reveling in a dream. “Together, we’ll destroy the old world to make room for a better one.”
I stop cold at that, and two demons grab my arms and push me along. The vest rubs against my neck and sears my skin. I bite back a cry as I stumble over my feet. I don’t understand how he could be in love with my sister and think she’s some kind of savior for all that she’s done.
The rest of the way, I hold my tongue. I have no chance of using my magic, but if he gives me the dagger to bring Efiya back and I’m quick enough, I can kill him first. One strike to the heart to destroy his body and draw his soul into the knife. It doesn’t matter what happens to me after that.
In a clearing, an awful scene comes into focus. We pass rows and rows of people on either side, bound and shackled to stakes, curled up on threadbare pallets. Elbows, knees, clavicles, and pelvises jut out under dusty brown and black skin. People from all five tribes stare unseeingly into the dark, eyes hollow, cheeks sunken.
“You bastard,” I whisper.
An old Zu man sitting with his head hanging between his shoulders looks up as we pass. His tattoos are dark, and I note the craven bone woven in a collar around his neck. The Demon King has been using anti-magic to keep the tribal people imprisoned. The man’s lips tremble as he tries to speak. I crane my neck to watch him, but his words never come.
“What happened to the rest of them?” I spit, my gaze sweeping over the camp. The demons had gathered a few hundred people on the crossroads, but less than half are here.
“They didn’t
all make it.” The Demon King pauses, his back still to me. “Some of them became food.”
I growl, my voice a raw ache of frustration and pain. I can sense my magic restoring itself even under the oppressive craven bones, wanting to let loose. I’ve come all this way, and I can’t help them. I can’t even help myself.
“Arti, is that you?” someone whispers in the shadows, crawling toward me. The moonlight hits the Mulani woman’s face. She has deep wrinkles in her sun-weathered skin and cataracts obscure her amber eyes. Hearing my mother’s name turns my blood cold, but the woman peers up at me with so much hope that tears fill my eyes. I turn away to find the Demon King watching me, a conniving smile splitting his face.
“You’ll sleep here with the others,” he says, thoughtful, “to remind you what’s at stake. If you think of disobeying me, I will kill one person on the hour every hour.” He flashes me another broad smile. “Rest well, Arrah, for there is much work to do in the morning.”
The Demon King leaves at that, heading to a large tent on the edge of the camp. That’s when I notice the other tents, the animal stalls, and the piles of half-cut stones. They’ve been working the tribal people all this time. Two demons force me to one of the stakes in the ground and lock my hands and feet with iron cuffs.
I strain at my chains—pulling, pushing, and picking at the locks without luck. When I start pacing back and forth, one of the demons guarding me threatens to pluck out someone’s eye if I don’t stop. The tribal people closest to me wince, and I have no doubt the demon will make good on it. I finally force myself to sit. The ground is hard clay and dead grass that pokes against my backside.
“Arrah,” says the woman in shackles near me. She sits hunched over with her locs covering her face. “I know that name.”
“Do . . . do you know me?” I ask, afraid that she’s one of my cousins.
“I know of you,” she croaks out. “You’re the one the chieftains said would save us.”
The woman falls silent at that, and a knot settles in my belly. How can I save the tribal people if I can’t even save myself? The chieftains made a mistake in thinking that I would be the one to stop my sister and the Demon King. I failed them.