Kingdom of Souls

by Rena Barron

  Once the dance is over, Rudjek bends to one knee and, one after another, the women kiss his forehead. He stands again and the crowd breaks into cheers and slaps him on the back. Guildmaster Ohakim, a tall, gaunt-faced man who heads the laborers’ guild, says, “I couldn’t have controlled myself that well if those dancers had been at my ceremony.” Ohakim seemed more interested in the dance than when Arti told the assembly about the missing children.

  Majka slips up beside me, nudging my arm. “He hated that, you know?”

  His left cheek is swollen and bruised dark purple.

  I cast a seething look at Rudjek. “Yes, I can see how much he’s suffering right now.”

  Several people surround him, and he keeps glancing in our direction. His face begs for someone to come save him, but he’ll get no sympathy from me. Majka bites his lip, watching the curvy dancer as she flounces through the crowd. He isn’t the only one.

  “The two of you are ridiculous,” Majka huffs, and turns his attention back to me. “Carrying on as you do.”

  “Like you can talk.” I cross my arms. “Did Kira hit you again for flirting with her sister?”

  Majka shrugs and straightens his elara. “That wouldn’t be proper, would it?”

  I cluck my tongue. “When have you ever been proper?”

  “Don’t you ever tire?” Sukar rolls his eyes, stepping out of the crowd.

  Majka presses his right palm to his heart. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Zu boy.”

  Sukar returns the Zu gesture of greeting, his hand to his chest. A latticework of tattoos loops around his fingers. He’s gotten new ones on his cheeks too—raised scars like tiger stripes. “What happened to your face this time?” He grimaces at Majka.

  Majka adjusts the collar of his elara. “One match in the arena or another.”

  I grab Sukar by the arm and drag him off before he can pester Majka more. “Don’t you have Temple duty tonight?”

  Arti had hurried off in her Ka-Priestess kaftan long before Oshhe and I left for Rudjek’s ceremony. Now that I see Sukar here, the ache in my belly grows. It was too much to hope that my mother had rushed to the Temple this morning only to keep up her ruse. She’s planning something. Tonight.

  Sukar frowns at me, the tattoos on his forehead creasing. “No, why?”

  “I thought Arti . . .” My throat tightens and my voice fades. Damn this curse. “I thought the other seers would be with my mother at the Temple.”

  Sukar nods in the direction of his uncle. Barasa and the Litho seer are the only men aside from Rudjek not dressed in black. Even Sukar wears a black tunic and trousers. His uncle wears the seer’s pale yellow kaftan, lighter in color than the rich gold of Arti’s. The other two seers wade through the throng, also in their traditional kaftans.

  The serpent tingles and I press a hand to my heart. The magic stretches through my body, setting every nerve on fire. I’m out of time.

  “Are you okay?” Sukar touches my shoulder.

  Head spinning, I lean against his arm. “I need to sit down.”

  Sukar looks around, but people fill the benches in the courtyard. The magic isn’t just causing me pain; it’s calling to me. We walk into the gardens next to the courtyard where it’s quieter and sit on a bench. A chill runs across my arms.

  “Was that what it felt like?” Sukar questions, his eyebrows shooting up.

  My tongue won’t let me say anything that points to Arti. I try, but I can’t even say magic. His tattoos don’t shimmer as they did when he broke through the Litho bubble in the tribal lands, as they usually do in the presence of magic. He looks confused as he reaches to touch my arm again, then stops himself.

  “May I?” he asks, and I nod even as the magic tightens its grasp on my throat, not enough to hurt me, but to silence my words.

  When Sukar rests his hand on my arm, the magic hums. “Do you feel that, too?” he asks.

  I struggle to find the right words. “What do you feel?”

  Sukar smirks. “That you might not be a ben’ik after all.”

  I sink so deep on the bench that my sheath drags on the ground. Sukar lets go of my arm and does the same. He knows me. He should sense the difference between me having magic and being afflicted by it. My mood is much worse, knowing that he’s mistaken my mother’s curse for something good. I lay my head on his shoulder as we stare across the gardens into the courtyard. I miss spending time with him and Essnai, without a real care in the world.

  Two of the dancers saunter through the crowd, the curvy one absent. Majka is missing as expected. Kira and Essnai have slipped away for a private moment of their own. Rudjek stands in a circle of scholars and statesmen while his father introduces him. Their pretty daughters squeeze in the circle, waiting for their turn to meet him too. I don’t have the energy to be jealous, yet I can’t deny the heat rushing up my neck.

  Sukar and I sit in silence for a moment, and the magic grows stronger. It prickles like needles against my skin. When I can’t sit any longer, I jump to my feet.

  “When were you going to tell me your secret?” Sukar teases, his eyes amused.

  “What secret?” Rudjek asks from behind.

  I whirl around and he’s standing there scratching his head as he looks between Sukar and me. He doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands, which he usually rests on the hilts of his shotels. No fancy swords tonight, but fancy everything else.

  I cough. “I’m surprised you were able to tear yourself away from your adoring fans.”

  “I’m not the only one with adoring fans,” Rudjek says.

  His accusation makes me blush, but before I can protest, he turns his winning smile on Sukar. “I want to know this secret too.”

  Oh, there’s a secret, but it’s not what either of them might think. I blow out a loud breath, annoyed by this whole conversation. “There is no secret,” I lie, exhausted.

  Rudjek clears his throat. “I need to talk to Arrah alone.”

  Sukar remains slouched on the bench to spite him.

  Rudjek gestures for me to follow him instead. We go deeper into the gardens, stopping beside a pond of blue fish that glow in the dark. “I thought I’d never get away.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Be glad girls don’t have to go through that.”

  I cross my arms. “Such a hardship, I’m sure.”

  “You’re mad at me.” Rudjek glances to his hands. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t talk my father out of the dancers. He insisted it was tradition.”

  I step back from him when I want nothing more than to sink into his arms. I need him to quell my growing sense that something bad is about to happen. “It’s a ridiculous tradition.” My voice falters as the magic tingles in my chest again.

  “I know.” Rudjek steps closer and his sweet scent tangles in my nose.

  “You didn’t have to look like you were enjoying it so much,” I say, even though he had looked no such thing.

  He moves closer and I hold my ground. “Are you jealous?”

  I shake my head and purse my lips, my mind everywhere but where I am now. I can’t give in to my mother’s magic. If I keep resisting it, I can at least postpone her plans until I find a way around the curse. “Why would I be jealous?”

  “What if I told you that I was jealous when I saw you with Sukar?”

  Another step closer and warmth spreads through my chest—not the curse, but something else. Something that feels nice amidst so much uncertainty. “But you weren’t jealous when I was talking to Majka?”

  “You wouldn’t offer Majka tea,” Rudjek says, his words a low hum that snap my attention back to the moment, back to him.

  I cock my head. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Would you offer me tea?” Rudjek asks, a sly grin on his lips, his perfect lips. Have they always been so beautiful? How can I be thinking about him like this, right now? I know it’s because I don’t want to think about my mother and all the awful things she’s done. I want to lose myself in the depths of his dark eyes and prete
nd everything is okay.

  “Yes,” I answer, my heart fluttering like butterfly wings. “I would.”

  “Arrah.” Rudjek breathes my name and it’s music to my ears. We’re far from the celebration. Far from prying eyes. No better than Majka and his dancer. “I should’ve told you a long time ago how I felt.”

  I close the small gap left between us. “I could’ve said something too.”

  Rudjek reaches up to caress my cheek and I lean closer, staring into eyes that mirror the ache inside me. A feeling of foreboding shadows the moment. There’s still so much uncertainty between us, so much left unsaid. So many secrets and missed opportunities and wasted time. Had we been braver before now, put our families’ feud aside and let our hearts decide, where would that have led? It’s a question that I’m finally ready to lay to rest.

  After tonight, there may not be another chance, so I let myself fall into his bewitching gaze. He lowers his face to mine and I press mine up to his. Our breaths intertwine as we lean in for a kiss. The kiss I’ve dreamed about a thousand times. Sparks of warmth set my body aflame. But just as his lips are about to brush mine, his scent pulling at my heartstrings, he jerks away.

  “Have you lost your mind, boy?” the Vizier hisses, his hand clutching Rudjek’s shoulder.

  “Twenty-gods.” Rudjek pulls away from his father. “Are you spying on me?”

  The Vizier is even more imposing in a black elara than in his usual white, and twice as menacing. “I’ve invited important families from across the Kingdom here to meet you tonight.” He cuts his eyes at me. “And you’re hiding in the gardens, taking liberties with a girl.”

  Rudjek frowns. “In case you haven’t realized it yet, Arrah is—”

  “She is my enemy’s daughter,” the Vizier barks at him, “and off-limits to you.”

  I ball my hands into fists as anger prickles across my skin. I can’t stand to look at the Vizier after the awful things he’s done to my mother and let happen under his watch. I may not be able to talk ill of Arti, but her curse won’t mind if I give him a piece of my mind. “How dare you—” I start to say, when a hand clamps down on my shoulder too. It’s my father.

  “It’s time to go,” Oshhe announces, his face blank. “We’re needed.”

  The words echo in my mind as the magic wakes. This time the call is stronger—much stronger than it’s been all night. I dig my heels in to resist, trying to root myself in the gardens. I grit my teeth until my jaw aches, but none of it does any good. In the end, I can’t resist my mother’s call. Even if I could, Oshhe would drag me away kicking and screaming. I look to Rudjek, helpless, as he and his father glare at each other. “You have no say in my affairs.” He spits on the ground.

  “Don’t I?” the Vizier bites back.

  Arrogance twists the Vizier’s face into a conniving smile. I want to shake some sense into him, but it’s useless. The bad blood between the Vizier and my family is too great to overcome. When he sees me, he must remember the girl he accused of bewitching his best friend. A girl robbed of her innocence. If only he knew the true monster she’s become—and his part in helping to create her.

  I back away, the curse’s invisible chains drawing me to Arti. I fight it every step, pushing my will against it, but my legs don’t falter. The magic wears me down and fatigue washes out the last of my resistance.

  “Arrah, wait!” Rudjek calls as I turn my back to him.

  A flicker of defiance sweeps across my shoulders, but I keep walking.

  Arti’s plan is unfolding tonight and the worst is yet to come.

  Eighteen

  Oshhe and I trudge up the precipice slick with dew toward the Almighty Temple. The first morning bells toll, the chimes vibrating in my bones. We’d been at Rudjek’s ceremony all night, and now it’s near the hour of ösana—when magic is at its most potent. My father hasn’t said a word since we left the Vizier’s estate. Once Arti summoned us, the little that remained of him faded away. He’s like the stories of the ndzumbi, no control over himself, no agency. He lives and breathes for her.

  “There has to be a way to break our curses.” I wrap my fingers around my father’s. His hand is cold. “You’d know how if you had your right mind.”

  I imagine my father nodding, but in truth his face is completely blank.

  Some of the other tribal people in Tamar must have records too. The seers would have scrolls but gaining access to those would be too risky. The charlatan who gave me the ritual to trade my years had other tribal texts in his sack. I’ll ask him tomorrow, if I can get the words out of my mouth. The magic winds tight around my body, and I march onward against my will. Dread creeps deeper into my bones and my stomach churns. The farther we climb, the tighter my mother’s hold over me becomes.

  Oshhe moves up the slope with the determination of a mule on a lead rope, his eyes never veering from the Temple. Whatever Arti wants help with, it can’t be good. At least if she’s at the Temple, she’s not on the streets looking for more children to steal. They’ll be safe for now.

  The morning Tam told me the origin story, when he confirmed the connection between the green-eyed serpent and demons, feels like a lifetime ago. I came looking for answers then, and now everything that’s happened makes even less sense. When we reach the Temple, the gates are open and there are no attendants on duty. It’s uncanny seeing it so quiet and empty when during the day it’s always bustling with people. The stark, gray buildings remind me of the tales of how the people in the North erect towering mausoleums carved out of ice to bury their dead.

  Torchlight pushes back the darkness around the courtyard, leaving the rest of the Temple grounds in shadows. None of the shotani are around—if they were, I would feel their magic drifting on the breeze. We enter the long ingress lit by more torches, our steps echoing against the stone floor.

  Through the ingress, we slip into the Hall of Orishas. Constellations spark across the darkness that molds the gods and their thrones. When you look straight at them or touch them, they are as solid as marble. But out of the corner of your eye, their shapes shift and pulse, ever restless, ever watching.

  Even during the day, shadows shroud the Unnamed orisha’s statue, but her rough-cut face is far more eerie at night. It’s become something twisted and ugly and unbearable. When Essnai, Sukar, and I were young and still taking regular lessons at the Temple, we made up stories about her. Essnai said the Unnamed had reached her arms into a serpent’s den and died from snakebites. The question of why she had done such a thing started a debate between the three of us. Sukar said the Unnamed had done it on a dare, and Essnai said she wanted to test the limits of her immortality. I thought that maybe she was looking for something she lost. Staring at her now and knowing about the demons, I have a different theory.

  Her name is absent among all the scripts about the war between the orishas and the Demon King. There’s no mention of her in any form, which is why the scribes call her the “Unnamed.” Is it possible that the other orishas had struck her name from history because of some egregious wrong she’d done? Her posture is relaxed, at ease, and the snakes look like they could be her pets. Had she sided with the demons in the war? Why?

  I want to look away, but she pins me in place. The magic coiled in my chest draws me closer, and I sink into the bottomless pit of her eyes. Eyes that are a gateway into a forbidden place and a forgotten time. I blink, and the feeling vanishes, chills creeping across my shoulders.

  “The time is near,” Arti whispers from the shadows in front of us.

  I suck in a deep breath that catches in my throat. My mother doesn’t wait for a response as she starts down a half-lit corridor. Her gold kaftan flaps against her ankles. Oshhe moves to follow, and so do I. We have no choice; her magic is a leash around our necks.

  We trail behind Arti through a maze of narrow halls, then down two sets of dark stone stairs. As we descend, the air grows thick with dust, and the temperature drops. Prayers to the orisha decorate the Temple walls, but the
re’s no mention of Heka among these artifacts. The Kingdom doesn’t worship him.

  The stairs end in a chamber with a low stone ceiling filled with shelves of empty glass jars. Eyes closed, Arti presses her hand against the wall at the back of the room. She whispers in that same ancient songbird language that sealed my curse. The wall protests as it slides open, like a great mammoth waking from its slumber. By my estimation we’ve arrived somewhere underneath the courtyard or the gardens.

  “The Ka-Priest brought the girls whose minds he violated here.” Arti pauses at the threshold between the two rooms, one hand braced against the stone. “And in the end, this is where they took his life. Fitting, don’t you think?”

  Our porter, Nezi, with her burnt hands and ever-present limp. Ty, who never speaks to anyone. Two women who could be ill-tempered at times, but never cruel. Ty who baked my favorite sweets on my birth days, and Nezi who taught me how to play jackals and hounds. Both women helped raise me. I can hardly believe that they dragged the old Ka-Priest down these stairs and tortured him to death. How can two people I’ve known my entire life be murderers?

  Arti enters the dark chamber with Oshhe on her heels. Cold radiates from the walls like it’s a living, breathing thing. I want to run away, to see how far the curse will let me go, but I can’t leave my father behind. He wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me. My hand slides to my belly as I step into the room and the door closes behind me with a heavy thump of finality. A soft light illuminates the chamber. Not chamber: tomb.

  I back against the wall, my fingers searching for purchase on the slick grime. The air squeezes from my lungs, the room spinning. My eyes burn at the sight of the children before me. I step toward them, but Arti lifts one hand to stop me. I strain against her magic, my teeth clattering, fists at my sides. I scream, but she stops my voice too.

  Arti has arranged the children in a single line at the base of an altar. Seven of them lie on makeshift pallets, a jar of gray mist above each of their heads. Their chests rise and fall as their soft snores fill the chamber. It’s freezing here, but she’s tucked them beneath blankets. It takes only a moment to realize what the gray mist is. It’s their kas. Arti stole their souls and trapped them in jars.