Reaper of Souls

by Rena Barron

  I toss my gloves aside and unsheathe my shotels in one smooth stroke. The metal sings, and the weight feels good in my hands. “That’s better.”

  The Demon King grins at me, his sharp teeth flashing. Some Yöomi file their teeth to scare their enemies, but I get the feeling his teeth are the least of my concerns. He sheathes his dagger at his waist and flexes his fingers. Two shotels appear in his hands, copies of my blades down to the holy script engraved in the metal. “Shall we begin?”

  He’s so proper and prim, the way he eyes me from across the field, that I almost don’t expect his attack when it comes. He is a blur of silver as he leaps for me, his body spinning, the amber sunlight reflecting off his blades. I parry right, duck, and roll. I’m back on my feet as soon as I hit the ground. I draw in a ragged breath. It takes a moment for me to look down in shock at the deep gash across my side. I stumble as my anti-magic stitches the wound back together.

  The Demon King is strong and nimble as our swords collide. I grit my teeth as I pivot right, aiming my shotel for a vital organ. He lurches back, flipping his wrists so that even as he dodges my attack, he’s in control of his next strike. His sword cuts into my shoulder—a little higher, and he would’ve taken my head. “You’re pretty good for being so ancient,” I say, spitting on the ground.

  “You’re the best that the Kingdom and the cravens have to offer?” He laughs. Good to see he’s enjoying the part where he gets to cut me into tiny ribbons. “That’s highly disappointing.”

  Ignoring the sweat stinging my eyes, I press the attack. I strike, metal clashing against metal. Again. Again. My arms shake. The Demon King goes for another killing blow, and I drop to my knees, thrusting both shotels up. One pierces his belly and the other jabs between two ribs, shy of my target—his heart.

  He growls in pain as I draw my shotels back, and I catch a knee to the face. Several bones shatter, and I fall on my backside. He bears down on my position, and I roll out of the way in time. His momentum pitches him forward, and he stumbles, almost losing his balance. There. My opportunity. While he’s distracted, I slice clean through his wrist and sever his hand. I allow myself a grin as blood blurs my vision.

  “I seem to be holding my own, old man.” I want nothing more than to press the attack again, but I’m still struggling to heal from too many cuts. Is this the future Caster of the Eldest Clan—my craven ancestor—saw for me? Unite the cravens and humans and kill this pompous ass?

  “You fight like a man who wants to live, Rudjek,” the Demon King says, shaking his head as light glows where his hand had been. When it fades, he has a new hand in its place, identical to the old one. “To fight well, you must be willing to die.”

  “Are you lecturing me in the middle of trying to kill me?” I cock my head to the side. “You really are an arrogant bastard.”

  “Your insults won’t win you my mercy,” he replies as he circles me again.

  Arrah is still thrashing against the craven bone chain near Fadyi and Jahla, who are both in their amorphous state. Her skin is smoking where the bone burns into her flesh. The Demon King keeps an eye on her, too, and has the nerve to look grief-stricken. “You say that you loved Dimma, yet you can do that to Arrah.” I spit on the ground. “You’re pathetic.”

  “I . . . I don’t want to hurt her.” The Demon King hesitates, his voice wavering. “I have no choice. Dimma doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

  “She’s not Dimma,” I say through gritted teeth. “That is Arrah—get that through your thick head.”

  Jahla—I can still tell them apart in their natural forms—bends the space between Arrah and them. Now they’re closer to her, which only makes it harder for her to escape. Fadyi manages to slip through a crack in the vines to reach an elongated, slender appendage toward Arrah. It hooks around the edge of the craven bone chain and yanks it off her. When she is free, Arrah stumbles to her feet, dazed, then races toward me. First she is flesh and bone, then she is fire and wind. I try to call to her to stay away, but something’s wrong.

  I choke on blood that bubbles in my throat and my chest is on fire. The Demon King towers over me, breathing hard, his eyes glowing embers. I clutch my fingers around empty air. My shotels are gone, but I don’t remember dropping them. I’m on my knees.

  I look down at my chest, the torn skin and muscle, the splintered bone. I gasp for air that doesn’t come—I’m not healing. The Demon King raises his sword once more. The last time. I’ve got no fight left in me, but I lift my chin to stare up at him as he brings it down. I will die with honor—let him remember the face of Rudjek Omari. Arrah materializes between us, her arms outstretched. He comes within a breath of striking her.

  “Dimma,” he gasps, stumbling back, as if suddenly aware of the brutality of the moment. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

  “I won’t let you kill him,” she says, but it’s too late for that. I’m already dying.

  “Ah, this explains a lot,” drawls Re’Mec as he flows from the sky on a beam of sunlight. He has two wicked swords in his hands, made of white light almost too bright to look at. Two other orishas stand at his back in shifting shadows. “It seems that my dead sister has come back from her grave, only to die by my sword.” He gives Arrah a look of pure disgust. “I always knew there was a reason I didn’t like you.”

  Arrah’s magic pushes me away from them—away from her. I blink once, and I land near Fadyi and Jahla, still tangled in the vines. I reach a bloody hand out for them, and I snap the vines with the little strength I have left. Good. They deserve better than dying by that bastard’s hand. I close my eyes, succumbing to the pain. When I open them again, Fadyi and Jahla are kneeling over me, back in human form. Jahla presses her hand to my chest to add her anti-magic to mine.

  Gasping for air, I glance over my shoulder back to where Arrah and the Demon King stand side by side. Her back is to me. He looks down at her with so much yearning in his eyes that it’s a knife to my heart. She should kill him now while his guard is down, but she only stares up at him. I’m glad that I can’t see her face. Is she looking at him with the same longing? Two phantom swords appear in her hands. As magic sets her skin aglow, I know that she isn’t just Arrah anymore. She is something very ancient and very dangerous. Re’Mec feared that she’d help the Demon King, but this is much worse than I could ever imagine.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, sinking into darkness, my mind going blank. It occurs to me, as I’m taking my last breath, that when I die this time, I won’t come back.

  Forty

  Arrah

  Dimma roars inside me, thrashing against the chains that bind her. Her fury and rage bleed into my mind, planting seeds that grow into writhing shadows. Her thoughts are incoherent and threaten to eclipse my own. She doesn’t care if Daho kills Rudjek, and I hate her for it.

  I want to go to him now, seeing him so still on the ground. Fadyi and Jahla lean over him with matching grim faces. I have to believe that he’ll be okay. Our story can’t end like this. He’s my best friend; even if we can never be more, I’ll always love him.

  “Fram lied to us all,” Re’Mec says with a bitter laugh. “We thought you were dead. We mourned you before we erased your name from history.” He shudders as if shaking off a bad memory. “You were better off dead.”

  Dimma snatches control of my tongue, and two voices come from my throat. One that is my own and another that sounds menacingly sweet. “Nice to see you, too, brother.”

  Re’Mec flinches and covers it by pacing back and forth in front of Mouran and Sisi. Mouran, the master of the sea, is tall and dark skinned with ocean eyes, his hair cropped short. His barbed tail curls around his waist. This is the first time Dimma has seen him in mortal form. He’s taken the shape of one of his children. Sisi, the fire god, makes no pretenses. She is an ever-changing spiral of flames consuming itself.

  Daho attacks first. He’s a flash of silver light, his swords slicing, cutting, impaling, but the orishas are just as fast. They streak ac
ross the field and through the sky like comets. I sweep my swords to block a blow, then another. Daho and I are back to back. Fighting with him feels right—like it would’ve been if I hadn’t let Fram take my soul.

  I push against Dimma’s thoughts. As I do, Mouran lassos his barbed tail around my waist and brings me to my knees. Pain shoots through my body, and I scream.

  Daho turns his attention to Mouran. When he does, Re’Mec takes advantage. He’d known that I would be a distraction. The sun orisha runs Daho through with his sword, and Sisi joins in the attack, her fire marring his flesh. Daho stumbles, but he keeps fighting, swinging his swords wide, until he drops to his knees, too.

  Re’Mec breaks away from Daho and lifts my chin with his sword. The light burns against my skin, and I bite back another scream.

  “You kill her, and none of you will make it from this world in one piece,” Daho says, his voice even. I can almost hear him strategizing the best way out.

  “I’ll take my chances.” Re’Mec aims his sword for my head, but the space around us shifts. His sword clashes with another. Sparks of light scatter across my vision until they coalesce into a familiar face. Koré stands in front of me, blocking Re’Mec’s blow.

  The sun orisha stares at his twin in grim horror. “You would defend her after everything we’ve been through together . . . after Dimma corrupted your people.”

  “Yes,” Koré hisses at her brother, her eyes two blazing orbs. “I would.”

  Re’Mec splutters to get out his next word, his face twisted in indignation. “Why?”

  “I owe Arrah a debt,” Koré says, her hair wiggling down her back. “I’m repaying it now. That should be obvious.”

  “Can’t you see that she’s our sister hiding in plain sight?” Re’Mec pulls back his sword and paces again. “And you still defend her?”

  “Thanks for stating the obvious, brother,” Koré says, her voice wary. “I know who she is now, but we’ve already tried killing her once, and it’s led to nothing but turmoil for five thousand years. Let’s not make the same mistake.”

  “Am I to believe that you’ve grown a conscience?” Re’Mec spits, as the light from the sun intensifies around Koré. Amber rays bounce off her dark skin.

  “Brother, don’t,” she warns, but Re’Mec sets his jaw, his eyes hard.

  Koré pushes against the light and fails to break free of it. I’d never expected the Twin Kings to go against each other. I had my doubts about Koré, but she’s changed over the years, which is no small feat for one of Dimma’s brethren. Change is not in their nature.

  “Again, I must show you why I was born first,” Re’Mec says with a deep sigh. “You mean well, sister, but your mistakes have cost us twice.”

  Iben’s gate opens behind Daho. It’s a wall of fog as he backs through it. He meets my eyes before he disappears. Re’Mec laughs. He thinks that Daho has run away, but I know better. He would never leave Dimma—not after everything he’s done to get her back.

  Another gate opens on the edge of the field, and the orishas grow brighter—their power immense, crushing, all-consuming. Re’Mec releases his sister from her prison, and she moves to his side, her swords ready. They complement each other in every way—light and dark, mercy and vengeance. Demons stalk through a pool of golden light. Black, brown, and white winged, skin from the deepest purple to near colorless. Still more demons pour into the field behind them—ones in human vessels. The tribal people stand between the demons and the orishas.

  It’s my worst nightmare come true. The orishas and demons will destroy everything and everyone in their path. I can’t stop them—it’s happening all over again. History repeating itself. Dimma died so that Daho and his people could live—she killed to save him, but it was for nothing. Her brethren and the demons will fight until the end of time if left to their own devices, and I’m helpless to stop them.

  Shezmu leads the demons’ army, but they don’t attack. Instead, they form a circle around us. Re’Mec hisses at Shezmu, who blows him a kiss. “Squabbling with your sister again, I see,” Shezmu says. “The two of you are so predictable.”

  “It beats being a puppet on the Demon King’s string,” Re’Mec snaps.

  I come to my feet, and for a brief moment Shezmu turns his attention to me. His greedy gaze feels like a thousand ants burrowing underneath my skin. I expect him to want revenge for me killing Efiya, but he only gives me a sheepish smile. The gesture catches me off guard, and I don’t trust it. Daho may have objected to Arti’s ritual, but Shezmu had no qualms about eating the children’s souls.

  Fog appears again where Daho had opened his gate. Snow and wind flutter from the vortex as Fram floats out of it still in chains. Now the black appendages leave nothing exposed below their shoulders. They thrash across Fram’s bodies, twisting in a sea of darkness that threatens to swallow the orisha. Daho is behind Fram with his blade pressed into their back.

  “You don’t want to be doing that, boy,” Re’Mec warns.

  An uncontrollable fear sinks in my chest. Fram killed Dimma, and I should feel no sympathy for them. Yet I’m terrified. Fram is the balance between life and death, chaos and order. What will these things be without them?

  “Daho,” Dimma and I say together, twin voices. “Let them go.”

  “Fram is the key to freeing you,” Daho says through gritted teeth, his voice choked with grief. He lowers the dagger and it grows into a sword of pure light. I don’t move—I am frozen in place as the horror of the moment unfolds. His sword is a blur as Koré, Re’Mec, Mouran, and Sisi descend upon him. He sweeps the blade wide and takes both of Fram’s heads.

  I stumble back as the orisha of life and death slumps to the ground. Their bodies twitch before bursting into light that spreads across the field. Their cooling magic brings me a sense of peace. It calms Dimma, but it does not free her.

  “What have you done?” Koré says, her face grim. “Fram was holding them back.”

  Them.

  Her children.

  The calming light from only a moment ago stretches into shadows that bleed across the sky, swallowing the sun. Darkness settles over the land. The shadows leach the life from everything they touch. The grass turns to ash, and the air grows cold. A sense of dread overwhelms me—it overwhelms everyone. Some of the tribal people and the demons begin to weep. Fram told Dimma that their children were too dangerous for the world. All this time, the orisha of life and death had held their children inside them. Now they are free and devouring everything in their path.

  You wouldn’t be the first to give up a child, Fram had told Dimma. I know that better than most.

  “The reapers,” Koré whispers. “The destroyers of worlds.”

  “Mortal kind is doomed,” Re’Mec adds, resigned.

  Without them saying more, I understand. Only Fram could control their children. Daho opens Iben’s gate again, and Shezmu and his army melt into gray smoke as they flee through it. “We have to go, Dimma.” Daho clutches my arm, suddenly at my side. “Come with me. I can protect you.”

  “I can’t.” I look up into his glowing eyes. I won’t. An unspoken understanding passes between us, and he lets go of me. He isn’t giving up forever, but he relents for now. “Help us,” I beg. “Open another gate, so my people can return home.”

  “This isn’t the end of our story,” Daho says, as he concedes to my request.

  I back away from him. “I know.”

  The orishas slow down the reapers with shields of bright light as the tribal people run through the gate to Zöran, but the orishas can’t stop them. Everything Fram’s children touch dies, and soon the light begins to fade, too. Fadyi and Jahla carry Rudjek through the gate. His body is limp, his face gray. Kira and Essnai bring up the rear, urging me to hurry up. Re’Mec and Koré disappear last.

  Daho and I are the only two left now. He backs into his gate, and I step into the one that will take me home. He mouths “I love you” to Dimma, and she says it back to him—I say it. His beautiful f
ace is the last thing I see before the gate pulls me into a stream of light. I land on my feet on the other side, my eyes trained on the gate until it disappears.

  I don’t doubt that I will see Daho again, but I push him out of my mind as I look for Rudjek. There are so many people here. Kingdom soldiers in red. Guardians in white. Another army in blue and silver. Zeknorians? It’s cold and snowing, but I keep pushing through the crowd. Soldiers offer aid to the tribal people, who are underdressed for this weather.

  “Arrah, here!” Essnai calls from across the crowd. I push my way to meet her and Kira in front of a tent. Kira’s face is pale, and her eyes hollow. “He’s inside with the cravens.”

  “It’s too late.” Fadyi pulls back the flap of the tent, shaking his head. “He’s too far gone.”

  Jahla looks as hollow as Kira, wrapping her arms around herself.

  I don’t ask if I can see him—I barge into the tent, my legs heavy. Rudjek is on a cot, his brown skin pallid. I kneel at his side and stroke his face. He is so cold, and I can barely sense his anti-magic. “Wake up,” I say, swallowing my tears.

  I expect him to give me a crooked grin, but he doesn’t move. I curl up next to him. “Come back to me.”

  I close my eyes, and I am in a dark place. Dimma stands across from me. She is taller than I expected, almost as tall as Daho, with eyes as dark as Rudjek’s. Her wild curls stand up every which way and frame her long lashes and a forehead lined with slender veins.

  “Is what Fram said true?” I bite my lip. “The only way to separate us is through my death.”

  “Yes,” Dimma answers.

  “That’s not fair!” I shout, seething with anger. “You had your chance at life. You had seven hundred years with Daho. Why can’t I save Rudjek—why can’t I be with him?”

  “I can save him for a price.”

  How could Daho love her when she’s so . . . cold. No, not cold; that isn’t right. Tired, weary, defeated. Her emotions wrap around me in slivers of fire and ice. “Name it,” I say without thinking. “I’ll pay it.”