by Rena Barron
Several people take notice of how we are together and another blush creeps up my neck. It’s hard not to notice him. The Vizier’s son in his fine purple elara with gold-plated shotels at his sides. His mess of black curls. He starts to say something but bites his lip. An awkward moment stretches between us, until finally I nod.
As we wade through the market, I tell Rudjek everything in a rush that leaves me breathless. I talk for a long time, the distraction of weaving through the crowd and having him near making it easier. I wasn’t ready to talk about Grandmother’s vision before, but it’s a relief to finally get it all out. With Rudjek, I can let myself be vulnerable, I can let my guard down. “How could any of this be possible?” I wonder once I’m done. “Demons . . . after all this time?”
He stares at me, stunned. Whatever he’d expected, it isn’t this. Ask a friend what’s wrong, and they’ll say they had an argument with their partner or they have a toothache. Ask me what’s wrong, and I deliver news that a demon’s come to roost in Tamar. It sounds grim even to my ears.
“What you’re suggesting . . .” Rudjek clutches the hilts of his shotels and cranes his neck to peer into alleys. Even Majka and Kira linger closer than usual today. They’re on full alert, eyes sharp, hands on their weapons, too. “Demons can’t be back . . . It would mean . . .” He can’t bring himself to finish.
I cross my arms. “Why are you so jumpy, then?”
Before Rudjek can answer, a Familiar flits between his feet and slides into a shaded area behind him. Dozens of them crawl up closed doors and walls and merchants’ stalls. They perch like birds on the rafters of an apothecary as two guards push through the crowd. Four fishermen travel in their wake, carrying another man on a stretcher. The man has a whale hook clear through his shoulder, and both Rudjek and I stare at him in shock. There’s so much blood that it overpowers the air. I hold my throat to force the acid back down. The men file into the apothecary and the Familiars follow them. There are always accidents on the docks, but I haven’t seen one this bad in a long time. I remember the story about the former Ka-Priest, how someone impaled him on a hook in the bay.
“I wish you could see all the Familiars in the market right now.” I shake my head in disbelief. “It’s an omen.”
“Familiars?” Rudjek tugs at his tunic. “You mean the wayward shadows?”
I wince, not wanting to hear another lecture about what the science scribes say. The scribes want us to forget about the souls that walked the world long before humans. But some didn’t ascend into the afterlife. They’re still here, hiding in plain view. Their presence pricks against my skin like needle points. There’s no time to argue with Rudjek about this again. The trail of blood left in the fisherman’s wake is making me light-headed.
“I don’t care what your science scribes say,” I snap.
“People have been talking about the wayward shadows—the Familiars—since . . .” Rudjek’s gaze darts around, and his voice drops to a husky whisper. “. . . since the first child disappeared. My father keeps dismissing the reports as tribal superstition. I . . . I wish I could see them too.” His hands fly to the hilts of his shotels at a sudden commotion behind us. When he sees it’s only an overturned cart, he turns to me again, his eyes full of dread. “Another child was taken last night. The count is at six now.”
“Six missing?” My voice shatters as a young girl slips under a patron’s arm and steals his money pouch. The man is unaware as he peruses a stall of tobachi knives. I seek out all the children in the market, as many of them as there are adults. My heart thunders in my chest. If I had magic I could do something, do anything. Am I supposed to sit around, let this demon take the most vulnerable among us, and then wait my turn? How easy it was, a year ago, to utter a single mention of Arti and stop Kofi’s stepmother from hitting him.
Kofi.
Without warning, I take a sharp turn, shifting our path in the direction of the fish merchants. I have to make sure my friend is okay.
“The shotani have been combing the city,” Rudjek says, keeping pace with me. “Now that a scholar boy’s missing, the Guild has grown a heart.”
Shotani magic wafts through the crowds even now. It’s heavy and oppressive, like sinking into a tar pit. Compared to them, the City Guard is little more than a nuisance. “Have they found . . .” I swallow, unable to say bodies.
“No.” Rudjek snags his fingers in his mess of curls. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, not even finding comfort resting them on his swords as he usually does. “There’ve been no leads at all. It doesn’t seem right. I mean, they’re the shotani, for gods’ sake. Blessed by the orishas themselves.”
“If Arti can’t see the child snatcher in her visions,” I shoot back, “then the shotani don’t stand a chance.”
Rudjek puts his hands on his hips. “Is she really trying?”
As his words sink in, the color drains from his cheeks. His accusation punches me in the gut. He doesn’t have to say more. It’s written on his face. Our parents hate each other, and either would do almost anything to see the other fall. “I don’t know.” I duck my head. There should be no doubt in my mind that my mother would do the right thing, yet . . .
“I’m sorry,” Rudjek says, glancing away. “I shouldn’t have suggested . . .”
I bite the inside of my lip. “Would your father help her if the situation were reversed?”
Pain flashes in Rudjek’s eyes. “I don’t think he would.”
We walk on quietly, passing crowds gathering in front of merchant stalls. A vein of pent-up frustration and fear underlie their low whispers. This will get a lot worse if someone doesn’t stop the child snatcher. The city will riot.
I ease out a sigh when we reach the fish merchants, and Rudjek gives me a reassuring smile. Kofi stands on his crate covered in scales. He smells atrocious, but he’s okay. He grins at me and then rolls his eyes at Rudjek. Same old Kofi.
“How goes business?” I force brightness in my voice. “Selling like hotcakes?”
“Terra bought seven threadfish this morning.” Kofi glances at his father, who’s haggling with a patron over the price of shrimp. “I gave her an eighth one for free since you’re good customers.”
Rudjek leans close to my ear. “Is that little runt flirting with you?”
Kofi crosses his arms and scowls at Rudjek, standing face-to-face from his vantage point on the crate. “You going to buy something or what?”
“Should I challenge him to a match in the arena?” Rudjek looks sideways at me. “I’ll do it with my eyes covered to make it fair.”
Time to go.
I flip Kofi a silver coin and he catches it midair. “Stay close to your father and be careful, okay?”
“I will.” Kofi looks at his father again, and the two exchange a nod. “Promise.”
“See you later,” I say before dragging Rudjek away.
“I’ll get him a guard.” Rudjek pitches his voice low so only I can hear him. “I know I can’t do much, but at least I can make sure he’s safe. I wish I could do it for the other children too.” He scratches the back of his neck. “As future Vizier, I should be able to do something useful for once.”
I beam at Rudjek. He’ll be a better Vizier than his father one day. Now that I know Kofi will be okay, my fear eases a little. But then a Familiar slinks across my shoulder, and I stop cold. A tremble shoots down my spine, leaving my skin prickling with ice in the midday heat. More Familiars rush behind me—a horde of them. My breath catches in my throat as I whirl around. A dozen swarm Kofi, slithering across his face, arms, legs, like a cloak of nightmares.
Their meaning is unmistakable. The child snatcher isn’t finished.
My friend is next.
Nine
Arti sits across from me at the low table in our salon, staring at a wall as she stirs her fish soup. She hasn’t said one word. Though she’s never one for small talk, she’s especially quiet tonight. Worry lines crease her face; she looks tired a
nd worn, and it makes me worry too. For the first time I can recall, there are dark circles under her eyes, as if she’s not slept in days. It’s moments like these that I remind myself that although my mother can be cold, she isn’t unfeeling.
Her face shows signs that she’s been hard at work performing rituals. Trying to uncover the child snatcher. I shouldn’t have doubted my mother. Of course she would help.
We sat down to our evening meal only moments ago, but I can’t stop squeezing my hands between my knees. I tell myself that Kofi has a guard now. He’ll be okay. I’ve never been more thankful for Rudjek’s familial ties to the Vizier than today. He put the word out, and within half a bell, there was a guard at Kofi’s side. A gendar, one of the elite soldiers from the Almighty Army. Still, I can’t wait until morning so I can go check on him myself. I promised I would look out for him.
Oshhe clears his throat at the head of the table, interrupting my thoughts. “I take it things aren’t going well at the Temple.”
Arti blinks as if clearing the cobwebs from her mind, a weak smile crossing her lips. She reaches for his hand and he reaches for hers. A look of longing, of sadness, of something lost, passes between my parents. “I wish things could be different,” she says, her voice quiet.
My father smiles, resignation in his words, a sense of defeat. “As do I.”
Ty bustles into the salon with Terra on her heels and my parents move apart. Our matron snatches up Oshhe’s bowl, and still-hot soup spills on her hands and apron. She doesn’t notice as she roughly puts the bowl on the empty tray in Terra’s arms and moves to take Arti’s. My father and I exchange a glance, and dread crawls through my belly. Ty’s eyes are blank. She might as well be leagues away when she’s like this. She’s retreated someplace deep in her mind, where the horror that haunts her has taken hold.
“Ty, will you eat with us tonight?” Oshhe offers, his deep voice gentle. “Terra can take care of the dishes.”
Families of status frown upon an attendant joining the household for meals. I didn’t know that for the longest time, since it’s commonplace for Nezi and Ty to eat with us. It came up in a conversation with Rudjek after my twelfth birth day. He was so excited upon hearing this that he asked his mother if his attendants could eat with them. He got a firm talking-to from his mother, and later a tongue-lashing from his father.
Ty doesn’t accept or decline my father’s invitation. She brushes away breadcrumbs from the table, her hands trembling. Terra puts the tray down and slips out to get Nezi. That used to be my job before she came. Whenever Ty had an episode, I’d run for Nezi, the only one who can calm her. The episodes always pass in time, but it’s hard to see her like this.
“The soup was exceptional tonight,” I comment, trying to bring her back. “It’s your best yet.”
She grunts, but her lips don’t move, and silence eats her words. I wonder if the news about the children disappearing has upset her. By the time she’s done clearing the table, her skin is gray. She stops cold and Arti goes rigid across from me too. Ty backs into a corner, shaking her head, her eyes as wide as two battered copper coins.
“You’ve only to ask, Ty,” Arti says, her voice wound tight. “And I can make it go away.”
I bite my lip and clench my fists between my knees. Like Grandmother, one of Arti’s gifts is to manipulate the mind, but there’s a limit to her powers. She can’t make memories go away forever, only bury them for a time. Ty doesn’t answer Arti either.
When Nezi hobbles into the salon with Terra, I ease out a breath. Her gaze rakes over us, a grimace painting her face. Ty is the oldest of our household and Nezi is next. Her black locs are streaked through with silver and stick up every which way. I stare at her scarred hands, gnarled and crooked like tree roots. She used to tell me that she burned them while plucking magic from the sky.
“I’m here.” Nezi’s husky voice echoes in the room. She doesn’t approach Ty; that’ll only make it worse. I learned that the hard way at a very young age. Nezi scratches at her old scars. She always does when she’s upset or agitated. “Do you want Arti to help you?”
Ty’s head snaps around, her eyes landing on her friend. There’s understanding between the two. Some secret language that the other women of my household speak, but I’m not privy to. Ty blinks her answer, her nails clawing into the stone wall, her breath coming out sharp and short. Soon the feather touch of my mother’s magic tingles against my skin. It sweeps through the room, and Ty squeezes her eyes shut and lets out a long groan before growing calm again.
While Ty’s recovering, my father tells Terra to take away the dishes. By the time she returns, Ty has already slipped from her corner, her strict matron mask back in place. She and Terra serve our next dish: pepper-crusted broiled fish and mint rice. Ty dips her head to Arti, who returns the gesture. There’s a shadow of peace on our matron’s face as she retreats back to the kitchen with Nezi and Terra. I can’t help but feel relieved too.
Arti looks so very tired. Magic takes from all—even the powerful. She sighs, her skin sallow, her eyes even more red-rimmed. But she’ll recover: unlike charlatans who borrow magic, it doesn’t take my mother’s years. It gladly answers her call. Oshhe looks tired too. He always does after a long day. We’re only halfway through our meal, and I’m still shaking from the episode with Ty, when Oshhe announces, “I must leave in the morning to hunt for a white ox.”
I don’t need to ask why. I’ve helped in his shop enough to know what he wants with the white ox. “I don’t need a protection charm.” I poke at the threadfish on my plate. “I need my own magic.”
Arti’s jaw tightens, but she holds her tongue.
My father swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he does. “I don’t know if this is a demon, for we only know them in stories. I’ve tried to perform the ritual to see across time and space, but the magic will not obey me. I’m not talented in that particular gift.”
I graduate from poking at the threadfish to jabbing my knife between its ribs.
If only I’d inherited some of that gift from Arti and Grandmother, I could help. I could do something to stop the child snatcher and protect Kofi instead of doing nothing. “I will make you the strongest protection charm known in the five tribes.” Oshhe dismisses my protest outright. “I shouldn’t be gone more than a few days; I must go to the Aloo Valley to seek out the beast.”
“The Aloo Valley?” I blurt out. “That’s near the Dark Forest. That’s craven territory.”
No one’s seen a craven since they attacked the Almighty Army in the Aloo Valley generations ago. It’s not a place that many in the Kingdom travel, for no one wants to tempt fate. The Aloo Valley is where the Omari family legacy began.
As the childhood fable goes, Rudjek’s distant ancestor, Oshin Omari, was the last to fight the cravens. Oshin led a crusade to push them back into the Dark Forest when they threatened the Kingdom’s borders. He set up his army in the Aloo Valley between the southernmost point of the Kingdom and the Dark Forest. The cravens, clever and illusive, killed half his men in one night.
Tired of losing, Oshin stalked into the forest alone, ordering his men not to follow. He hiked into the marshes, not seeing a craven until he came upon a clearing. There, they all surrounded him. He pulled his shotels, ready to die with honor, but they did not attack. His bravery impressed their leader, and she offered to fight him to the death in an even match. Swords against claws and teeth and tree-bark skin. The craven was fast and cunning, but Re’Mec honors the brave. Oshin won and the cravens conceded to his prowess in battle. As his reward, they promised not to invade the Kingdom, for they had gained respect for its people. He took the fallen craven back with him, and later discovered the anti-magic in their bones.
“Near the Dark Forest,” Oshhe repeats, “not in the Dark Forest, daughter. The Aloo Valley has been peaceful for generations. It’s where I have the greatest chance to find the ox. It isn’t only the child snatcher that we must worry about; it’s also people who let fear con
trol their actions.”
My pleading eyes find my mother’s. If there’s one thing my parents have in common, it’s that they’re both stubborn. I don’t want my father to go, but I know there’s no point in begging him not to. With so much uncertainty, we should stick together. No one is safe. “You and the seers will be able to find the demon, won’t you?” I ask my mother, my voice a whisper.
Arti’s Ka-Priestess ring clinks against her plate. It’s changed to the color of an emerald tonight. “Demon or not”—she sighs—“I’ve done everything in my power. Now let Suran clean up his own mess. The protection of the Kingdom is his domain.”
“If he can’t, then what?” I spit out. “More children will go missing.”
My mother meets my gaze, her sad eyes bloodshot. “I fear it will be so.”
Ten
Every morning, I say a blessing for the missing children over the ancestor altar. It’s been three days since my father left and the routine calms me. I clutch my charm from Imebyé while reciting the words. If I followed the Mulani tradition, I would make a doll from well-worn clothes. The Kes require a doll too, but one made of clay. The Litho tradition asks for a sacrifice, usually a chicken. The Zu perform a dance under the moonlight. I add an amulet of Kiva, the orisha of children, for good measure. I can’t trouble myself worrying about mixing two faiths. The tribal people honor one god, Heka. The Kingdom worships the orishas. Right now, whoever decides to answer my prayers will have my eternal devotion.
But without magic, I know the ritual is meaningless. Whatever inkling I might have of Heka’s gift, it isn’t worth much. What good is it to see magic in the night sky if you can’t touch it? I guess I should be grateful that my mind resists the influence of it, but I’m not. It isn’t enough to make a difference. I can’t believe I’m meant to hide in our villa and do nothing. If my fate is somehow tied to the green-eyed serpent—the demon—our paths will cross sooner or later. I should be doing something to prepare, to protect myself.