Beasts Made of Night

by Tochi Onyebuchi

  She’s wearing a gray shirt with an eagle painted on the front, cinched at the waist. Another Scribe behind her wears a robe covered in painted lizards. A smaller aki nearby shows off his new shirt to a couple of the others. A gift from the Scribes. He flaps the shirt so that it looks like the tiny birds on it, the inisisa representing thievery, are flying up his chest.

  More aki cluster by the Wall, checking out the latest painted sin.

  Scanning the paintings, I remember how the holy men would talk of a time when beasts roamed the earth. Before there were aki and Mages. The beasts roamed the world freely and spoke directly to us lowly humans. The Scribes tag the wall to memorialize this time. They do so in vivid color, as opposed to the black ink of actual sin-spots, so that everyone can see the images, even against the drab backdrop. Looking at the Scribes now, I feel the inevitable pinch of envy. They weren’t cursed with the ability to Eat, they weren’t born with the Hunger, they just felt out of place. The way they dress, the way they talk, the way they refuse to bow and kneel and scrape before all the people they’re supposed to bow and kneel and scrape before. Being able to run away is always better than being taken. I wonder if any other aki watch them, admiration glowing in their eyes, and think the same and feel just a little bit jealous.

  Marya picks at my robe with her dirty fingers, and I don’t mind. I’ve missed her.

  “Chai! Where did you find these? Oga, tell me the name of your dressmaker, I will make sure he is caned in the Forum for wasting these gemstones on you.” She eyes me up and down, turns me around to see how it all fits together. “This is all metallic,” she murmurs in awe. “The time it must have taken.” Then she straightens, fists on hips. “You obviously haven’t learned how to take care of clothes. You could be draped in gold, and it would all be soiled within the hour. That is a month’s worth of puff puff you’re wearing right now, and it is already soiled.”

  “Doesn’t seem to suit you, brother.” Someone steps forward. Bo. Relief rushes over me. Izu had promised me that he was safe, but it’s a totally different thing to see him standing before me. I want to ask him about Nazim, the moneychanger, and how he bargained for Bo’s freedom.

  But when Bo speaks, there’s a new air of confrontation in my friend that I’ve never seen before. He refuses to meet my eyes, instead looking me up and down. “In fact, it looks like you are preparing to pound yams. Is that what they have you doing over there, Taj? Pounding yams?” He sounds like he wants to fight me.

  “Well, you’re welcome for saving your life.” I smile, hoping to ease the tension. Bo’s sporting a new scar that slides around his left eye and down his cheek from his fight with King Kolade’s sin-dragon. And his limp hasn’t gone away.

  “Yeah, the Palace guards let me go. Didn’t give a reason. I see you’ve made it out all right.” He snorts. “You practically glitter now.” The way he says it makes me want to break his nose. “This is what they dress their servants in, eh?”

  He plucks at my sash, and I step back, gritting my teeth. Marya looks at both of us, worried. What’s his problem?

  Bo crosses his arms over his chest. “Can’t see a single sin on your skin the way you’re covered up. Wouldn’t want your new overseers to let the Forum know they’ve hired a common aki to Eat for them, would they?”

  “Bo, what are you talking about? It’s not like I’m stealing your work. By the Unnamed, there’s still more than enough sin to go around.”

  “I bet they feed you pretty nice too. Goat meat on your plate every night, eh?”

  “Bo.”

  He takes a step forward, but Marya stands between us, a hand to Bo’s chest.

  “Brothers, stop this lahala. Now.”

  She speaks with steel in her voice, but Bo and I are still spoiling for a fight.

  “Leave it!” one of the younger Scribes suddenly cries out. “The guards!”

  All at once, everyone scatters. The Scribes snatch up their tools and trays and pour their paint out into the dirt. They vanish in the shrubbery. Bo gives me one last glare before he does the same. I get ready to head in after them when I see Arzu leading a small army of guards. Sweaty, breathing hard, barely able to hold herself up, and fuming with rage.

  “Sir,” is all she has to say. Her eyes are still rimmed in red.

  I follow her back to the Palace.

  CHAPTER 16

  MY BED IN the Palace is still softer than anything I could ever imagine touching. But I’m so angry I spend the night shaking, fists balled up at my sides, wishing Bo would walk in so I could smash a shovel over his northerner face. I’d bet a thousand fric he thinks I’ve betrayed him somehow, but that’s absolute lahala because he gets to walk free throughout the Forum while I’m trapped here doing nothing. Trapped.

  I can’t tell how much time has passed, but the sky is as dark as my daga outside my window. Arzu is nowhere to be found. If I even breathed of leaving the Palace again, she would probably leap out of the shadows and tackle me to the ground.

  Before I know it, I’m out of my room and wandering the halls. Maybe if I stomp around for long enough, I can let go of some of this anger. At the very least it’ll help me stop thinking about Bo and how he got the other aki to look at me like I was some sort of traitor, even though I did nothing to them. I saved his life. A smirk crosses my face. He’s probably just upset I was able to defeat that inisisa and he wasn’t.

  Up ahead, noise leaks out from one of the rooms to the right. The door is partially opened, and I can see the glow of candlelight.

  Something to do, I guess.

  I get to the door, and through the sliver I see vibrantly colored cushions and lounge chairs. The walls look like buckets of glittering paint were splashed on them. A few kids my age sit on pillows in a circle around a small lamp. They laugh and shout like the rest of the Palace isn’t trying to sleep.

  “On your mother’s opal, eh, I will find that girl, and I will crush her ruby. Do you think her brother can stop me? That stone-sniffing ditchdigger? All of those northerners. Lay a hand on me and CHOP!”

  The room erupts with laughter.

  I remember how I used to feel about the Kayas and about the royal family before I got here, how they weren’t worth a fraction of the gemstones they wear, and still aren’t. How they look down on the rest of the city and all the dahia and how we are all supposed to believe that they are the purest among us, wholly and completely without sin.

  I turn to leave, then I hear. “Eh-eh! Where are you going?”

  They can’t possibly be talking to me.

  “Come here, come here!” A pause. “What are you, deaf? I said come here!”

  I push the door a little bit open, and now I’m angry again. Thankfully, it’s no longer Bo whose nose I want to break.

  I open the door all the way so I have an easy escape.

  When the candlelight shines on my face and my clothes, they look me up and down. One of them grins, showing his teeth.

  “So you are the new servant, eh?” says one of them, wearing a full robe with red and green stripes, rubies and emeralds alternating all the way down from his shoulders to his knees. They all wear pristine white pants. There are four of them. The other three wear single-color robes: blue, brown, and silver. The one in stripes seems like their leader.

  “Eh-eh! Come join us!” The one in the stripes shifts over to another cushion and pats the one he just left. He has his hood pulled close to his face. I can barely see his eyes. “If you refuse us, I will have you caned for your rudeness. What is your name, boy?”

  Every single word out of his mouth makes me angrier. The way they look at me or talk at me like I’m some sort of exotic servant. I can hear the arrogance in their voices. Nothing bad has ever happened to them. No misfortune. When has this one’s stomach ever been empty? But I walk in and stand over them. They watch me in silence.

  “Rest,” says their l
eader, chuckling. “You are not working. You are with us now, so you will never work again.”

  On the table in the middle of their circle is a metal dish with powders in varying colors on it. Next to the one in brown is a bowl that holds a smaller version of what women in the dahia use to pound yams. Its wide bottom is covered in blue and red and purple dust. I look at the dish again with the lines of powder, and my stomach turns.

  Stone-sniffers.

  The leader slaps me on the back while the one in blue takes one of the small, thin pieces of metal, whose edge looks sharper than my daga’s, and chops a piece of the ruby powder off the line. In a single deft movement, he slides it onto the back of his free hand, puts his hand to his nose, and inhales.

  The others are giggling even more than before. I can tell from the backs of their hands that they just sniffed too.

  On that table: rubies and opals and emeralds, while beggars and those in Kos with nothing put crushed coal up their noses and kill their minds. Miners in the north would work an entire year to supply the gemstones these royals have crushed into powder to put up their noses.

  When I flick my arm to get my daga into my hand, it catches on my sleeve, exposing the sin-spots that run up and down my right arm.

  Everyone freezes. Their eyes bulge with wonder. Then the one in stripes grabs my arm and slams it on the table.

  “So this is how they look?” he says. “When you Eat sins, this is where they go?”

  I glare, my lips pursed. I flex my arm, but his grip is surprisingly strong. Even though he’s joking around and laughing and doesn’t seem to pay attention, he can guess what I want to do to him.

  “Eh! He is wearing our sins. Look at this.” Then, with a finger, he traces the griffin by my elbow. “Whose is this?” He points to the boy in brown. “Is this your sin? What does a griffin mean? What sin is that?”

  Before I answer, he sees the lion tattooed on my forearm. He stares for a long time, entranced.

  “Haris,” I say beneath my breath. I don’t even realize I’ve said it until he looks me in the eye and grins. He pulls his hood off his head. “You’re Haris.”

  I didn’t recognize him in the soft glow of the candlelight. I’d only seen his face at a distance, then recognized it in a vision, both times in broad daylight.

  “This one is mine?” he asks quietly. “I don’t even remember what this one was for.”

  “When you smashed that jeweler’s stall!” shouts the one in brown.

  “Or maybe when you tried to take that coal-woman’s ruby, eh?”

  “If the lion is from a visit to the coal-woman, this aki would be covered in the prince’s lions. You see?” the one in silver leans over and pulls my sleeve up even farther. My stomach turns so much I’m ready to vomit. “Here is a bear, and here a snake.” Then the one in silver considers me. “Unless you can get different beasts for the same sin?”

  I can feel heat rising to my cheeks. I pull my arm free and grab my daga from my armband. The entire world is covered in a sheet of red. Tears spring to my eyes. I want to fight, but harming royals is the most heinous sin of all—it would mean certain death.

  We all turn at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

  “Cousin,” Haris sputters.

  I whirl around and stop dead. Princess Karima stands in the doorway, her face a porcelain mask, betraying nothing.

  “Cousin,” she says softly. She sees everything but says nothing else.

  Slowly, I calm my breathing, but my chest is still so tight. I fumble my daga back into my armband and brush past the princess without saying a word.

  I spend the rest of the night on the balcony, staring at Kos in the distance.

  The sun is high over the wall when I feel Arzu’s hand on my shoulder.

  I get up, and when I wipe my face, my cheeks are still wet with tears.

  “Sir, is everything all right?” Arzu asks, and for a second it sounds like there’s genuine concern in her voice.

  “I’m fine.” My loose sleeve slips, and I see there’s still powder residue on it. Revulsion and anger twist in my stomach.

  “Well, sir, you have a visitor.”

  “Tell them to come later.” I walk back into my room. “I need sleep.” But just as I turn to my bed, I see who’s standing in the door.

  She wears a Mage’s robes, and her spectacles are tangled in her hair. The Mage from Zoe’s.

  “Aliya,” she says, as though I could have forgotten.

  “Good morning,” I say groggily.

  “Princess Karima wanted me to tell you that she is hosting a poetry competition right now, and she requests your presence. It’s a bunch of kids from the dahia, the absolute smartest, and it’s always a special occasion. I’ve been told to expect a wonderful afternoon of equations and proofs today. There will be plenty of Palace advisers, kanselo, and other algebraists, some of the best in all of Kos. They will all be judging. It really is a lot of fun, and I—” She stops, then smiles. “I’m babbling. Well, Princess Karima wanted me to tell you that you’re more than welcome to come.”

  She leaves, then, a few seconds later, pokes her head back through the doorway. “And welcome to the Palace estates. I was very happy to hear that you’d be around.” Then she leaves, and it’s just me and Arzu left.

  I can’t even begin to figure out how to feel about this place.

  “Sir,” Arzu says from behind me, “my advice would be to bathe first.”

  Oh yeah. That.

  I bathe quickly, Arzu still at my side, and dress for the competition. I only end up finding the auditorium by following the sound of occasional, faint applause. Even then, it takes me a few tries to find the right entrance. I open one door, and it looks like I’ve arrived backstage. From here, however, I can see a few familiar faces sprinkled throughout. Aliya sits in the front row, leaned over, with her chin in her hands. She’s got parchment on her lap, but it’s like she’s forgotten all about it. She stares at whatever’s happening on a large chalkboard on the stage. Other Mages, wearing the kanselo stripes of Palace advisors, fill out the front row along with several algebraists.

  Bo worked the wedding of an algebraist one time, and he told me about it. He had been called in to Eat before the proper wedding ceremonies to ensure that both parties were pure when they exchanged vows. He told me about their clean white robes and dresses, and the brightly colored gemstones adorning them. He told me how they made sure he was always out of sight of the guests. He’d been forced to wait by a water closet outside, then brought to a small bedroom in a separate house behind the main estate to Eat the bride’s and groom’s sins. Afterward, he was kicked out through the back while the Mage collected his payment.

  They’re mostly men here in the front row that I can see, with a few women algebraists. They’re all in simple robes—work attire—and everyone forms a semicircle around the room. In the center is Princess Karima. A few Kayas, probably some of her cousins, sit around her.

  She doesn’t see me, and I hurriedly look for another way in.

  There’s another door that opens out onto the far back of the room, so that I can see the board and what’s being scribbled on it. The ceiling of the room looms so high overhead that everything echoes—including the sound of the door closing behind me as I try to shuffle as noiselessly as possible inside.

  A few heads turn at my entrance, but if I look the part, I better be the part, so I strut in like I personally own this room. I am the Lightbringer, after all. No one is going to respect me if I cower in the back.

  But when I get close, I notice that most of the seats are full. Either Mages or kanselo or algebraists or Kayas in their brightly colored robes. There is one seat, though. And I gulp when I see it’s right next to Princess Karima.

  OK, Taj. Breathe easy.

  It takes me a moment, but I muster the courage and make my way through the
back of the semicircle. I take the small steps up to the dais two at a time and plop down in the unoccupied chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. When I get settled and try to breathe steadily again, I see she’s looking at me. Her eyes are clear and calm like river water.

  I keep my hands in my lap and remain still, even as she reaches over and puts a gloved hand over mine.

  She squeezes once, then lets go.

  My hands warm at her touch, and they stay that way for the rest of this dahia kid’s presentation.

  A little boy, dressed in a blue-and-gold-striped robe fills the chalkboard with lines and numbers and symbols: with e and pi and something about a golden ratio, but it all goes over my head. I try to follow Aliya’s reactions. But her rapture is beyond me. I glance to my right and am chilled to see Izu staring straight ahead, his lips pursed in a frown. Then I notice Haris, slouched in his chair two down from Karima, with that permanent smirk on his face.

  My gaze returns to Karima. By the Unnamed, if she could hear the way my heart is beating in my chest right now . . .

  A smile graces her face. She’s not looking at me, but there is no doubt in my mind that I am on hers.

  After several more dahia kids present their equations and explain their poetry, everyone disperses. A few of the algebraists huddle together and talk about the children. The Mages eye them hungrily, searching for potential talent. Either future kanselo, court lawmakers, or aki. I can already tell that look in their eyes. They don’t see dahia children. They see money.

  Before the kids are ushered away by Palace guards, Karima has them all assemble at the front of the room before the board. Several long equations fill the board, and the children fumble, some swaying nervously left to right. Others keep their chins held high and their backs straight, and I smile at them. They’re trying to show that they’re not cowed by this place. That the bigness of this room and the richness of the clothing of the royals and the patches on their own robes mean nothing. That they’re just as worthy as the people they’re performing for.