Kingdom of Souls

by Rena Barron

  Arti raises her voice, undeterred. “It’s my wish to have a child who will be both human and demon, and possess the full glory of your magic. This is what I demand and you cannot refuse.”

  A picture of a woman kneeling before an altar appears in my head, her hands chopped off at the wrists. This deed I do unto you will pay my debt, and I will not return when you call. The tribes will be forever lost to me. For what I’ve given of myself, I will not take back, but after this night, I will not give more. We are repaid. The last bit of my hope flees. He’s not going to stop her and, even worse, he’s helping her.

  “Good riddance,” groans Shezmu.

  This can’t be happening. If Heka will not return to the tribal lands for the blood moon, then he won’t gift magic to future generations. What does this mean for the tribal people? Will the magic they have continue to pass down through the bloodlines or will there be more ben’iks like me? Will mortal kind’s magic become a relic of the past? How can Arti be so selfish to ask such a thing, to make such a sacrifice? And all to release the Demon King, who has no regard for life. The scripts said so . . . but the scripts also said the demons were dead.

  “So be it.” Arti speaks with no emotion in her words, no remorse that she’s taken Heka from the tribal people. He could refuse, but he doesn’t. He answers my mother’s whim like an obedient dog. He’s no better than Re’Mec and his Rite of Passage.

  A piece of Heka, a ribbon of white light, separates from him and floats down to Arti. I close my eyes, unable to watch this act of desecration. In my mind, Heka shows me lily petals showering down on a sunny day as I lie on the grass along the Serpent River. Rudjek lies beside me and we stare at the brilliant blue sky.

  “Be brave, Arrah,” Heka tells me in Rudjek’s voice.

  “You could’ve refused her!” I scream. “You’re the only one who can stop her.”

  “It is not my place,” he says, his words a soft purr. “My time is over. Now be brave.”

  There’s such command in his words, such weight. “I don’t know how to be brave.”

  “You must. If you fail,” he whispers, “no one will survive.”

  The scene changes to a mountain of broken bodies piled so high that they reach the edge of the sky. Blood rains down on the Kingdom. Puddles of it turn into lakes and lakes into raging rivers.

  The green-eyed serpent—my sister—will be the death of us all.

  Fram, Orisha of Life and Death

  I love my sister. We all love her. Our love for her should never be questioned.

  I don’t regret killing her. Perhaps I should have left well enough alone.

  But I’m the orisha of life and death.

  I give life.

  I take it away.

  And sometimes I give it back.

  Now that bastard has found her.

  The others do not know my secret. They cannot know what I’ve done.

  The decision to kill our sister wasn’t easy. We lamented over it for decades until we all agreed that she must die. Re’Mec and Koré were the ones to suggest it. They wanted revenge, but it was also a necessity, the lesser of two undesirable choices.

  When we took our sister from him, the Demon King unleashed his rage. He loved her. Perhaps too much. She’s the reason he’s immortal. She gave him our gift, but it was not meant for his kind. Immortality changed him.

  I remember the boy he was before. When our sister found him dying by the frozen lake. He was such a scrawny thing. Abandoned by his people. She nursed him back to health and fell in love with him.

  Love is a dangerous thing, especially among our kind.

  Our love is boundless, endless, all-consuming.

  But I digress.

  Let me start at the beginning.

  I killed my sister.

  I reached into her chest and snatched her soul from her vessel.

  While Koré and Re’Mec and the others battled the Demon King, I found my sister seated upon her throne. When she sensed my presence, she smiled and leaned forward. She knew why I had come. She accepted death. But as I held her beautiful ka in my hands, I couldn’t bring myself to crush it. She always had a kind soul, be it misguided.

  I stood with her empty vessel before me. Indecision is my nature, so if I happen upon that state, I pay close attention. Instead of destroying my sister’s ka, I put it in my pocket and told the others that I had ended her. Every now and then I would reach into my pocket and feel the essence of her soul. She’s a thing of firestorms and ashes and lava. How could I let her die when I love her so much?

  When I was walking among the humans, I decided to release her ka back into the world without the burden of the past. I did it so she could atone for the suffering her gift to the Demon King has caused. I have watched her reborn over more generations than I can remember. Making a little progress every time.

  But now the Demon King has ruined everything. My sister has been asleep for a very long time. When she finally wakes, her wrath will be the death of us.

  Nineteen

  Arti blames the ground caving in at the Almighty Temple on the people for angering the orishas. She and the seers call for more tithes to restore the beauty of the Kingdom’s most sacred temple. It’s been a full month since then, and rumors have spread through the East Market like wildfire. People say the collapse is a horrible omen. They claim the orisha Kiva is angry at the Kingdom for letting the children go missing. Some even allege to have seen the children’s restless kas roaming the alleys at night. The farmers say the tortured souls have driven their livestock mad. The fishermen blame them for their meager hauls.

  Still, there are some who hold out hope that the Guard will find the children alive, but I know the truth. The shotani removed the bodies after Arti’s ritual. They washed the blood from the walls and got rid of the evidence from the chamber beneath the gardens.

  At night, sleep taunts me and becomes as elusive as the white ox. I dream about the children . . . about Kofi . . . lying on the floor in the tomb. Shezmu’s mouth stretches wide to eat their kas. My father’s mouth. Sometimes he has teeth sharpened to fine points. Sometimes blood stains his lips and runs down his chin. Sometimes he’s smiling at me with my father’s kind eyes before his two voices split into a piercing scream.

  During the day, I wander through the market to lose myself in the crowd. I pretend for a brief respite that I’m someone else, hiding my pain beneath the noise. I don’t know how to stop my mother, and I’m seething with anger. Where are the orishas that they let this happen? And Heka . . . I can’t believe he agreed to help her, and then left this burden to me. Now I’m on my own with no clue what to do next. I haven’t been able to approach any of the charlatans about their scrolls. Whenever my eyes land on one, my mother’s curse takes my voice.

  After Rudjek’s Coming of Age Ceremony, the Vizier sequestered him at their estate. With all that’s happened, I haven’t had time to think about the almost kiss, and we haven’t seen each other since that night. Every day either Majka or Kira find me in the market and deliver a message from him.

  “Rudjek says not to worry. He’ll handle his father.” Majka stifled a laugh. One does not handle the Vizier of the Kingdom. One obeys him. “He also says that you were the most beautiful girl at his ceremony.” Majka pulled at his collar, the slightest flush showing on his rich brown skin. “And it’s the memory of your smile that keeps him sane in these trying times. He’s very melodramatic, isn’t he?” That last part Majka added with a crooked grin.

  Majka was right. He’s the most melodramatic boy I know. Rudjek could’ve sent a letter rather than have his friends relay his messages. Each exchange has been quite uncomfortable for both them and me.

  Today the message was: “I’ve seen the reports about the mood in the markets. The Guard expects a full riot any day now. You should stop going for a while, until things calm down.”

  To which I answered: “The market isn’t the problem. You know that as well as I.”

  That was as muc
h as the curse let me say.

  After the evening meal Arti tells Terra to go fetch her some palm bark tea and strong wine. I corner Terra in the kitchen and ask to tag along. I need to get out. I can’t stand another moment listening to Oshhe’s stories, his voice as dry as someone reading a market list. And to make matters worse, Ty, Nezi, and Terra seem none the wiser about what happened at the Temple or to my father. They go about their daily lives the same as always—and it infuriates me to no end. Arti is close with Ty and Nezi, and it’s hard to believe they don’t know. I can’t help but wonder if they not only know but support what she’s done.

  Every time I look at my father, I see Shezmu’s sickly green glow in his eyes. But the demon fled my father’s body that same night, his exit as awful as his arrival. Oshhe remained bedridden for days after that, and to my surprise, Arti stayed at his side. She fed him when he wasn’t strong enough to hold a spoon. These two warring sides of my mother paint conflicting visions of her. But no matter how hard I try, I can only see the darkness now.

  Terra and I arrive in the East Market to mobs gathered on corners, whispering of betrayal and vengeance. If only I could tell them about Arti instead of standing around with my tongue caught in a flytrap. The Guard marches down the streets in its gray uniforms, breaking up crowds.

  “Are you okay?” Terra asks, her voice timid. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

  The pain of my secret eats at me. I want to fall to my knees, to tear out my hair, but instead I push back the tears yearning to burst free. “I don’t think any of us are okay.”

  “It’s awful, isn’t it?” Terra shudders at my side. “Some people say the children are dead.”

  My nerves flutter, and I look everywhere but at her. Arti’s sins are my sins, too. To serve as witness to a ritual is to be a part of it. “I hope . . .” The curse stops me from finishing my sentence. I hope they make Arti pay. “I hope the city will have its answer soon.” The words sour on my tongue.

  As we search for an apothecary still open at this late hour, a somber mood hangs over the market. No Familiars slither across people’s backs, feeding off their sorrow and hate. None flicker in and out of the shadows, which would be a relief if it wasn’t so unusual. If they aren’t here, then there must be trouble brewing somewhere else. We left Arti heaving into a bucket at the villa, so chances are she’s not the source. But even with her sick, the shotani could be up to something on her behalf.

  “Your mother asked for palm bark tea. Is she . . .” Terra swallows. “Pregnant?”

  When I don’t answer, Terra adds, “The tea helps with the sickness.”

  “Yes.” I let out a shaky breath. “I know.”

  “You’ll love having a sister or a brother.” Terra flashes me a smile. “I have five myself. Three sisters and two brothers.”

  Yes, but none of your siblings were green-eyed serpents with both demon’s and Heka’s magic. Magic so powerful that she pushed her way through time, into my vision, into Grandmother’s, blocking her sight.

  Grandmother.

  I should’ve thought of her before. Would have, if my mind hadn’t been reeling ever since that night at the Temple. What if I could get a letter to Tribe Aatiri? Would the curse let me? If I write something that has nothing to do with Arti, but still convince Grandmother to come to the Kingdom at once—could that be the answer? She wouldn’t fall for Arti’s tricks, and she’d be able to put an end to this nightmare. If tonight’s plan doesn’t work, I’ll try it first thing in the morning.

  “I ran into one of the Vizier’s attendants this morning.” Terra brushes her hand across a bright roll of silk as we pass through a busier part of the market. “She overheard what happened in the gardens the night of the Omari heir’s Coming of Age Ceremony.”

  “Terra.” A flush of heat creeps around my collar. “I’m not about to gossip with you.”

  “Well . . .” She shrugs, her face reddening. “If you ever do want to talk . . .”

  “I won’t.”

  While Terra ducks into the only open apothecary, I slip away. It’s busy inside and that should give me the time I need. I haven’t come to find medicine to soothe Arti’s sickness. I’ve come for something else. I can’t let my mind settle on the reason, for if I do, her magic will stop me. I need poison, yes, but it doesn’t matter for what. As long as the magic doesn’t know, no harm done. Not yet.

  I cut a path through the street musicians to reach the seedier, quieter parts of the East Market. On the surface the streets look deserted, but pockets of people linger in the shadows. I circle toward the vendors who sell poisons, but my path takes me away from them. No matter how much I try to cover up my intentions, I can’t get any closer.

  “You look like you’re up to no good,” a woman leaning against the wall of a closed shop says. She’s small and slight and wears a dirty shift. Her eyes are so light that they glow in the dark. It’s the woman who offered to read my fortune before Kofi disappeared—before my mother took him. A bowl with a few coins sits atop a tarnished metal box covered in fire script at her feet. There’s something familiar about the words, the way they loop and curve and end in sharp edges.

  I should keep walking. I don’t have much time, but a charge in the air makes my forearms tingle—the way they do when there’s an abundance of magic near. The woman’s braids writhe around her face as if they have a life of their own. A sense of danger pricks the hairs on my neck. I back away, but her next words root me in place. “What’s a girl like you doing about at this hour?”

  The moonlight reflects off her dark skin in an iridescent glow.

  “Who are you?” An eerie stillness comes over me and I can’t move or stop gawking at her. Unseen magic flows against her body in rushing waves. It’s not the magic that dances in the night sky; it’s boundless and unbridled and invisible even to my eyes.

  She bows in greeting like Tribe Kes, but she doesn’t have their diaphanous skin. “A concerned friend who knows that you’re hunting for something.”

  “How—how do you know that?” I stutter.

  She shrugs, a crooked grin on her lips. “I know a lot of things.”

  One of her braids strikes out at me like a venomous snake and I stumble back, tripping over my own feet. I stare at the box. It’s almost identical to the one on Koré’s lap in the Almighty Temple. The fire script shimmers in the moonlight as the pieces fall into place.

  Re’Mec and Koré are the most powerful of the orishas, the sun and the moon gods. Koré forged the box with her own hands, and Re’Mec carved the kas of their brethren into the sides. Their very souls became chains to hold the Demon King in his prison. Now Koré stands before me, the air splitting around her. Her magic isn’t the feather touch of Heka, or the prying eyes of demons. Her magic feels like clinging to the edge of a cliff in a raging storm.

  My eyes sting as I gape at the box again, unable to breathe. He’s in there. The Demon King. It isn’t my imagination that the box quakes, that it hums with magic, that it wants me to open it. I wipe my hands on my trousers and swallow the acid on my tongue. He’s the reason my mother took the children—the reason my friend . . . is dead. I’m so angry that my head swims and I can’t see straight.

  “You’re Koré, one of the Twin Kings,” I hear myself utter, not quite believing it.

  I should be afraid, but I’m not. I’ve seen too many awful things, and if an orisha is here, she means to do something about my mother. That can be the only reason why she’s revealed herself.

  She wags her finger at me. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “You could stop her,” I say. “You have the power.”

  Koré flips over the bowl of coins with her bare foot and they clank to the ground. She puts her foot on the box and it stops quaking. I blow out a breath, relieved that it’s not moving anymore. “I can’t . . . I’ve got my hands full already.”

  “I don’t understand.” I flinch in disbelief. “You know what she’s planning . . . what she’s alrea
dy done.”

  “The beast stirs.” Koré’s tone is serious now. “I must keep him asleep.”

  My mother’s curse surges at the mention of her master.

  “You’re using all your magic to keep the Demon King imprisoned.”

  Braids still writhing, she smiles. “I wouldn’t say all.”

  “Can Arti bring him back?” I swallow hard. “Is it truly possible?”

  “He never left, Arrah,” Koré answers, her words sharp with hate.

  It shouldn’t surprise me that she knows my name. She’s an orisha, but what else does she know about me? How long have they known about Arti and done nothing?

  “Had my brother and I been able to kill him,” Koré hisses, “we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  The serpent constricts beneath my skin. I cross my arms to keep from shaking and draw back from Koré. She’ll kill me if she can. She’ll strangle me with her bare hands.

  No—it’s the demon magic in my body responding to her.

  “That’s an unfortunate scar you have there.” Koré nods at my chest as though she can see the serpent through my tunic. “Interesting that the Ka-Priestess chose that particular mark.” She sticks out her tongue, nose wrinkled. “To answer your question, none of us can get close enough to kill your mother. She’s protected by demon magic that extends to those who surround her. She’s even put a nasty obedience spell over the other seers so they don’t suspect a thing. Many serve her willingly, and bear marks of protection.”

  “But if her magic is that strong . . .” I lean against a barrel to catch my breath. “How are you able to talk to me now?”

  “The binding she placed on you has a very specific set of rules,” Koré explains, sounding annoyed. “For the others, if they try hard enough to betray her, the magic will stop their hearts. But she bound you with a demon curse that could never hurt you . . . in fact, it’s made to keep you safe. She knows us well; we would have killed you if given the chance to strike at her.”

  I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead. My mother said her curse was a gift; now I understand what she meant. Although I don’t understand why. Everything my mother does is a contradiction, and I don’t know what to make of it. Is there a chance to convince her to stop searching for a way to release the Demon King? He saved her life, and even before that, he’s always been in a corner of her mind. I remember the countless times she slipped into that vacant expression. Was he talking to her then? “Why are you here now if you can’t do anything?” I scoff, my patience worn thin. I’m foolish to yell at an orisha, I know, but I haven’t much else to lose.