Reaper of Souls

by Rena Barron

  “Re’Mec told me that the demons are your children.” I raise my voice. “Why is it impossible for you to stop them?”

  Her wriggling hair falls still at once, and there is a notable change in her expression. Not sadness but a kind of resignation. “Imagine yourself with children one day, Crown Prince.”

  I blink as blackness bleeds into my eyes, blurring out the camp. I’m in a sunlit salon with toys scattered about my feet. Three children burst through the doors, laughing as they chase each other. The oldest is a boy with golden eyes and smooth brown skin. Twin girls, who look a year or two younger, run after him. They turn circles around me, and I laugh, overcome with joy and pride.

  “Now imagine that you must kill them.” Koré’s voice pierces through the illusion.

  The children line up in front of me, and the boy hugs his sisters tight against his sides. “We didn’t mean to break the vase, Papa,” he says. “It was an accident.”

  A shotel hangs heavy in my right hand as I stare at my children in horror, knowing what I must do.

  “We’re sorry, Papa, please,” begs one of the twins. Gods, her eyes are exactly like mine.

  “You made mistakes when you were little,” says her sister.

  “Enough!” I scream as the shotel almost drops from my hand. I am back in the camp again with Koré still poking at the fire. “Don’t ever do that again,” I spit. “Stay out of my head.”

  “Perhaps you get the point now.” Koré leans close to me. “The demons are so very young, with powers that were never meant for them. They are awful, yes, but my brethren and I were awful, too, in the beginning.”

  I shake my head in disgust. “Are you making excuses for what they’ve done?”

  “No, but you should know what it’s like for me to have to hunt and imprison my children,” she says. “I have grown to despise them over the millennia, but it hurts no less.”

  “It’s time, Commandant,” Majka interrupts us. He’s in his full battle armor; his visor pushed back into his helmet. Silver plates over a red elara. “The men are ready—we’ve got three hundred and thirty-seven who can fight.” He quirks an eyebrow. “They’re waiting for you.”

  Three hundred and thirty-seven. We would’ve had five hundred if not for Captain Dakte. Add to that a hundred cravens to counter the demons’ magic. No Zeknorians, though. Commander Korr had answered my last plea to parlay with news that their king had yet to change his mind. I have no clue how they’ll react now that we’re marching a second time against the demons without their support. But I don’t care about the odds. I come to my feet and sheathe my shotels. “Of course, Captain Kelu.” I give Majka an incredulous look. We’d always dreamed of becoming officers in the Almighty Army. Now the honor is bittersweet with so many of our comrades dead.

  “The title fits me quite nicely.” He stands a little taller, his chest out. “It does help that I am by far the most attractive captain in the entire army.”

  “You are certainly the most egotistical.” I look back to where Koré had been sitting. She’s already gone. I understand her point about the demons, how hard it might be for her, but we all have to make sacrifices.

  “The soldiers will be expecting a speech,” Majka says.

  “I know,” I grumble.

  “Did you bother preparing one?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.

  “No.” I think of all the times I sweet-talked my scribes into not telling my father how often I skipped lessons. “I’ll make it up as I go.”

  At the edge of the village the demons have taken as their camp, I face the Almighty Army of the Kingdom with Majka and Kira on either side of me. The cravens stand to our right with Fadyi in command by my order. Their white robes and slender blades look deceivingly simple next to the gendars. I’ve gotten used to how Fadyi and the others never seem quite still. Their skin, hair, and clothes are always in motion. I once likened it to a million fire ants working together to give the illusion of a solid form.

  When I asked Fadyi why they’re so willing to follow me when I look human, he said, “Don’t you understand by now, Rudjek? Appearance is a construct, though I do have to remind Jahla on occasion. What we see when we look at you is the descendant of Caster of the Eldest Clan, and we are yours to command.” I clasped his shoulder in solidarity, hoping that their faith in me wouldn’t prove to be misplaced.

  “Two riders approach from the west!” a gendar calls out.

  Commander Korr trots forward on his white steed, armed and cloaked in furs. He has a broadsword across his back and an ax belted against his chest. Another rider follows, bearing the Zeknorian flag—a bear’s claw set upon crossed swords. His army marches in his wake. They wear silver and a pale blue that almost blends in with the icy mountains behind them.

  “Attention, left flank!” Majka orders, and the gendars turn so that we’re facing the Zeknorians. Shezmu had been counting on infighting to divide the Kingdom and Zeknor. I can’t let that happen.

  Commander Korr stops halfway between our two armies. “You dare march on Zeknorian soil again without our permission.”

  I don’t have time for another confrontation with him. I need to get to the gate and find Arrah and stop the Demon King, in that order. “Here I thought you had come to join the battle against the demons, but if you are content with sitting this one out, by all means.”

  “You speak boldly for a sickly boy,” Commander Korr remarks.

  “Yet I’m the most equipped to deal with your demon problem.” I gesture at my soldiers. “If you don’t want us to fight, we can head back to our ship and leave the demons to you.”

  “I suggest you do that before you find my sword at your throat,” Commander Korr spits.

  “As you wish,” I say, taking a huge gamble. From what I’d gathered from our brief conversations, he was all for joining forces. But the Zeknorian king has a petty grudge against the Kingdom. Maybe I’ve been approaching this the wrong way. Before, I asked the Zeknorians to help us, but this is their land and their honor to defend. We would be the ones helping them, not the other way around. “Majka, give the order that we are leaving Zeknor.”

  “Are you sure?” he whispers close to my ear.

  “Yes.” I don’t bother to keep my voice low.

  Commander Korr’s horse whinnies as he tightens his grip on the reins. “Do my ears deceive me? You, Crown Prince of the Almighty Kingdom, have come to offer your swords to aid my army’s attack on the demons.” He says it loud enough for his words to spread through the ranks.

  “You heard right, Commander Korr,” I answer, holding back a smile. Let him keep his pride. “The Kingdom is at your service—if you will allow us to fight by your side.”

  Commander Korr strokes his beard as if he’s thinking on the matter. “We will accept your offer.”

  Cheers rise across the ranks of both armies. I am relieved, but I don’t let it show. I hold my tongue while Commander Korr gives a speech to his soldiers. Their battle cries drown out most of his words.

  I stare at gendars thrice my age marked by battle scars and at soldiers no more than a year or two older than me. Soldiers with sweat streaking their brows, their fear evident. I push all doubts from my mind as I look into their eyes. “I won’t lie to you: I’m afraid, too, but I’m not afraid of the demons. I’m not afraid to fight, bleed, and die to put down the threat to Zöran and the Kingdom. I’m afraid of what happens to our world if we don’t put aside our differences and stand together for a greater good.” I pause, letting them soak in my words. “Let us stand with our cousins from the South,” I say, my voice rising to a roar, “and our cousins from the North united as one!”

  My soldiers break into cheers that rival the Zeknorians’. Not that I’m comparing or anything.

  “For the glory of the Almighty Kingdom!” Kira yells.

  I wait impatiently as the first wave charges into the heart of the village. Ice-blue uniforms blur with Almighty Kingdom red and craven white. Our forces disappear around dwe
llings with rough brick walls and slanted roofs. I rotate my wrists, adjusting my shotels until the hilts sink into the curves of my palms. I’m counting down the moments until the war horn blows, and the second wave joins the fight, then it comes at once. Not the horn, but a burst of flames that lights up the sky. Moaning, wailing, screaming, death. I take one step, and Majka grabs my arm. Fadyi, Jahla, and Commander Korr are in the first wave.

  “As commandant your place is here,” Majka says, his eyes glassy as he tries and fails to keep his face hard. He loves Jahla—I hadn’t taken him seriously, but it’s written in his stricken features. “With the second wave.”

  I restrain myself from pulling out of his grasp. The wait is torturous, but when the horn finally blows, I set off at a hard sprint, the rest of the second wave on my heels. Something whizzes past my ear that leaves my cheek burning. Then another and another. The air shifts. I can’t believe it. Birds of lightning descend from the sky, advancing upon the demons in a frenzy. Several orishas have joined the fight.

  The burning in my cheek sears down to the bone, and I wipe my face with my forearm and find it melted. Charred skin and flesh slosh onto my arm, and I stare in horror. Gods, it hurts.

  When I enter the heart of the village, I crouch, my lungs burning, ready to pounce. Bodies litter the ground. No, not bodies, body parts. An arm here, a leg there. Hands. Heads. I gag and swallow down my panic. Mostly cravens from the first wave engage the demons in battle alongside the orishas. Very few Kingdom soldiers or Zeknorians are still standing. I am stunned by the sight of some of the demons. They’re heads taller than us, with wings dripping blood and sharp teeth. They bear a striking resemblance to the people of the North. Black veins show underneath their skin along their foreheads. These demons must have come through the gate from Ilora.

  The cravens’ anti-magic counters their magic, evening out the fight. Blood soaked, Korr parries with a woman with long red hair and glowing emerald eyes. He strikes her across the chest with his sword, and she smiles as her wound closes before his eyes.

  I no sooner turn away than a demon runs me through with his blade. The man sneers, his eyes triumphant in his stolen Tamaran body. I tighten my grips on my shotels, my anti-magic rolling off me in waves. It assaults the demon—peeling away his flesh. It isn’t like before when I killed the demon in the alley and his soul returned to a bodiless state. I’m stronger now. My anti-magic shreds this demon’s soul into bits and pieces until there’s nothing left. He won’t be coming back.

  I peer down at the sword still lodged in my gut. The pain is excruciating.

  “Need help?” Kira says as her daggers catch two enemies. The knives disappear and reform in the sheaths against her thighs. She yanks the sword from my belly, and I bite down the pain as the wound heals. “We’re still protecting you, little runt.”

  “And doing a poor job of it, too,” I say with a wink.

  Majka relieves a demon of his head. “Should’ve left it in there.”

  Six demons from Ilora surround us. They are tall, broad shouldered, with swords twice the size of our own. “I’ll handle this,” I say as my eyes adjust, narrowing and honing. My senses heighten to the subtle shifts of space around me. The demons attempt to shed their bodies to become something else, but my skin pulses with anti-magic again. It counters their magic and binds them to their physical forms, making them more vulnerable. “You might want to duck now,” I yell to my friends.

  Kira grabs Majka’s shoulder and pulls him down with her. I search for the threads that bind time and space and yank them. The action pulls me outside time—it’ll only last for a moment, but that’s all I need. The battle moves in slow motion around me as I cut down demon after demon. There is a tug on my body as I fall back in sync with time. The six demons lie at my feet—their bodies and souls shredded beyond repair.

  “What just happened?” Majka says, his eyes wide.

  “Rudjek!” Fadyi yells over the commotion. He fights off a dozen demons on the edge of the square. Then I see it: the gate. It shimmers in and out of existence. It’s a simple metal arch, towering over us and glowing with strange symbols. Jahla and six other cravens stand beneath it. With their anti-magic so near the gate, Shezmu can’t escape through it. It’s our only way to find Arrah and the others.

  I’ve taken two steps toward it when Kira screams. It’s a bloodcurdling sound that cuts through me as I whirl around. I follow her hollow gaze to where Majka lies crumpled on the ground with a wound through his chest. It takes far too long for me to process the horror before my eyes.

  “No,” I whisper, my body falling still, my arms slack at my sides. I can’t move. Majka. I grit my teeth, my mind reeling. The cravens can heal him. It’s not too late.

  A demon stands over Majka, grinning at me. I’ve seen those eyes in my nightmares—the eyes of his daughter, Efiya. The demon is tan, compact, and muscular with an angular face. Except for the eyes, they look nothing alike. Efiya’s demon father, who she gave a human body. Shezmu. “I’ve been waiting for you, Rudjek,” he says, his voice rough.

  Tears blur my vision as I stumble forward. I want to rip out his heart with my bare hands. Kira attacks him, but he lifts one hand to send her hurtling back through the air. She slams into a Zeknorian soldier, and they both go down.

  Shezmu blurs before my eyes. He’s so much stronger and faster than the six demons I killed, and my anti-magic buckles against him. I stumble, my legs losing strength before I look down to see a gaping hole in my belly. I blink and fall to my knees. I remember Fadyi’s lessons—him insisting that I must learn to heal faster. No, he said that I must be faster so I could avoid getting injured altogether. The joke’s on him now for inheriting such a sorry excuse for a pupil.

  Shezmu smiles down at me, unnatural light dancing in his eyes. “I have a gift for you, Rudjek,” he says, a gray mist swirling in his hand. I can’t move as my body struggles to heal. “Not that you deserve such an honor.”

  “You . . .” I cough, spitting up blood. “You should’ve died on the battlefield with that monstrosity of a daughter of yours.”

  “Is that so?” Shezmu says, his smile still intact.

  I open my mouth to tell him what a pompous ass he is, but I never get the chance. The soul flies down my throat. The impact knocks me on my back, and I hit the ground, choking and gasping for air. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I scream, and two voices rip from my throat—my own and that of the demon inside me.

  Thirty-Two

  Arrah

  I am not dead, but I don’t feel alive, either. I am an afterthought in someone’s else dream. I am a passing shadow. My eyes flutter closed, and my head slumps forward. Sukar wraps an arm around my shoulders to keep me upright, his touch gentle and steady. Despite my pain, I welcome his embrace, his scent of sunshine and cloves, his cool skin against mine. I am burning up and sitting in a puddle of my blood mixed with Tyrek’s. He’s dead now, gone to be with my sister. May the both of them rot inside Daho’s dagger.

  “I thought you were dead.” I wince at the pain of talking. “I searched for you.”

  “I would still be floating in that river if not for my tattoos,” Sukar confesses. “That little rat caught me off guard. He’s lucky you killed him before I could.”

  “You and Essnai were right about him all along.” I squeeze my eyes shut and tears stream down my cheeks. “I should’ve listened.”

  “You have a good, though misguided heart, Arrah,” Sukar teases, patting the top of my head like I’m hopeless. “It’s not wrong to want to see the best in people until they show you otherwise.”

  I tell him what I’ve learned since his fall into the river. “Tyrek commanded the demons to kidnap the last group of tribal people. He was trying to free my sister.” I brace myself to tell him the rest—the part about Dimma, how Fram trapped her soul. It comes out in sobs.

  Sukar stares at me, half in shock, then he massages his forehead. “So you’re saying that you’re a reincarnated goddess?”
/>   “Something like that,” I concede, grimacing.

  “You do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you?”

  I almost laugh, but the pain stops me. “Shut it.”

  Sukar goes still, his voice weak. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you and Essnai.”

  “Where is she?” I’m afraid of his answer. “Did she get away?”

  “I don’t know.” Sukar hesitates. “I thought I’d find the both of you here.”

  “She went back to the gate,” I say, grief-stricken. “We have to search for her.”

  “We’ll go when you’re not bleeding to death.” He leaves no room for argument. It isn’t like I can get up on my own anyway. “Essnai is smart and resourceful—she’ll be okay.”

  “What of the demons?” I pull away from him and peer into his eyes. He looks less haggard. “How did you get past them? What about the tribal people?”

  “The tribal people are fine, Arrah,” Sukar says, his voice placating. “The demons fled as soon as you killed Tyrek.”

  The tribal people are safe—that’s all that matters for now. “I need to push out these bone shards.”

  “What can I do to help?” Sukar asks, looking over my wounds.

  “Just . . . hold me, please.” It comes out so desperate that I’m glad my braids hang in a curtain around my face, so he doesn’t see my embarrassment. Hold me because I can’t sit up on my own. Hold me because Rudjek can’t. “You know what I mean.”

  “And here I thought you were flirting while bleeding all over me,” Sukar says.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I grumble, but there’s no spirit behind my words, no real bite.

  “What would I be if I wasn’t your ridiculous friend?” I hear the smile and longing in his voice.

  I squeeze his hand, and Dimma’s memories draw me into their grasp. The brush of feathers against my lips, the warmth of a mouth, the delight of hands. I shudder, not from disgust but desire. I’ve had so many glimpses into Dimma’s life with Daho that it’s hard to see him as the awful person the gods warned about. I don’t begrudge them what they had, but I can’t forget that Daho’s demons have eaten countless souls—he’s done it himself.