Kingdom of Souls

by Rena Barron

  The demon magic breathes against my neck, and I squeeze my hands into fists. Go away.

  “We want the orishas to pay for their crimes,” Nezi tells me, her tone matter-of-fact. “And the crimes that happen under their noses to those who can’t protect themselves.”

  We. Here I’d thought that I could talk Nezi and Ty into helping me.

  “I don’t pretend that the orishas are wholesome or good.” I grit my teeth—my vision red with anger. “But what my mother’s done to help the Demon King is wrong. There’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.”

  “You’ll come around.” Nezi turns to leave. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  At that, she slips out of the room as quietly as she came. I rush to the door and bolt it shut this time, my hands shaking. She can’t believe that I’ll support what my mother’s doing, that I’ll stand aside and let her. Twenty-gods. Has everyone on this ship lost their good sense?

  I storm back to the desk to finish my letter while the curse is still weak. When I unroll the papyrus, my head swims and my heartbeat quickens. This can’t be right. I stare at the grim reality of what I’ve done. On the paper there are circles drawn upon circles upon circles. Circles that bind, circles that connect. The serpent tattoo aches as the demon magic curls tighter around my heart.

  Twenty-Three

  After ten days of drifting on the river, we leave the ship for Kefu, a free trade territory that borders the north edge of Estheria. Magic flutters across my forearms like velvety moth wings, but I can’t see it. It makes no sense when it feels as thick as in the tribal lands. Even if magic is less visible during the day, usually it looks like flecks of lint on the wind, but here it’s almost imperceptible. The eye of Re’Mec hides behind a cloud that casts the docks in shifting shadows. It’s midday, but it sits too low in the sky.

  Arti hires laborers to carry a litter big enough for Oshhe and me, but I refuse to ride with them. My father objects until Arti tells him to leave me be. I walk with the rest of our household, leading the donkeys packed with our things.

  Dust coats everything in Kefu, from the people to the squat buildings. Gaunt faces and hollow eyes stare at us as we make our way through the town. Kefu lacks the spark that radiates from the people in Tamar, especially in the East Market. The merchants have no heart as they sell their wares, and the patrons are downtrodden. There’s no boasting on the corners. No gambling in the alleyways. No melody of flutes or djembe drums. Most of all, no song or laughter. There’s something very wrong with this place.

  Sweat trickles down my forehead as I shoo away flies. I linger far behind the caravan, until it disappears in a cloud of dust at the edge of town. I’m sick of walking in my mother’s shadow, and it’s nice to have a little space for myself after the tight quarters on the ship. I pull my donkey along, dragging my feet as much as it does.

  “Can you spare some bread?” asks a little girl rushing to match our pace.

  She blinks at me with sad violet eyes, and skin so ashen it’s hard to believe the sun has ever touched her. Though, she doesn’t have visible veins like the Northerners do, no matter their shade of color. “Can you help me, please?”

  The magic in Kefu shifts around the girl, leaving a pocket of air that keeps it away from her. Her own magic feels like being on the edge of a storm. This little girl isn’t who, or what, she appears to be. “You again?”

  “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Koré pipes up in a high-pitched version of herself—strange coming from the mouth of a child. In her presence, the curse loosens on my tongue again.

  “If you don’t have a way to kill my mother,” I reply, “then no.”

  “Are you always so sour?” The little girl Koré pouts.

  She sniffs around the saddle on the donkey until she finds the salted fish and bread from the night before. She acts like a real child. Without the touch of her magic, I would’ve been none the wiser. She lifts the sack without asking. “What does food taste like these days?”

  Seeing Koré pretend to be a precocious child reminds me of Kofi, and shame tingles in my belly. I couldn’t protect him, and I can’t help but wonder if he’d still be alive had he never met me. My heart sinks.

  Little-girl Koré smiles at the contents of the sack. “As much as I would love to sample your delicacies, I’ve come with a purpose, or several for that matter. There are things you need to know.”

  My belly clenches in anticipation. Whatever she’s come to tell me can’t be good.

  “You must have noticed that Kefu is not what it seems.” She adjusts the straps of an old leather bag across her shoulders. “The city is like the space between time that the tribal people call the void. We . . . my brethren and I . . . travel vast distances in the matter of moments through it. But this place is a different kind of void. It’s where the demons coalesced after the war.”

  “Coalesced?” I wrap my arms around my shoulders. “You mean they didn’t die? None of them? But . . .” I inhale sharply, remembering Shezmu’s gaping mouth, his horrible piercing scream, and what Nezi said about the holy scripts in the Temple. Only stories. “You . . .” I can hardly speak. “You lied to everyone.”

  “We stretched the truth, yes.” Koré shrugs. “When we destroyed the demon race, they found a way to keep their souls from ascending. We all must return to the Supreme Cataclysm in death. It made orisha, and we made everything else. But the demons found a way to cheat.”

  I stare at her in shock as the scribes’ lessons about the orishas—about her—unravel in my mind. “What else did you stretch the truth about?”

  Koré glares at me through narrow slits. “The point is . . . we couldn’t force the demons to ascend, so we had to contain their souls to keep them from taking new bodies. This place is a prison, and like the void, time is fickle here. It moves at a whim and cannot be trusted. Sometimes the hours in a day stretch on too long, and sometimes in the blink of an eye years go by.” She glances at a group of patrons who’ve stopped to stare at us. They whisper to each other. “The people who live in the physical space of Kefu are none the wiser, while the demons cling to life by siphoning off bits and pieces of their souls. A rather harmless exchange . . . until your mother arrived.”

  “Harmless?” I hiss. “Can’t you see that these people are miserable?”

  “This is not my domain!” Koré bares her teeth at me. “Another orisha keeps watch here.”

  “Keeps watch while doing nothing,” I spit.

  “Something you know much about,” she bites back.

  I swallow my retort. “I’m doing what I can.”

  “That brings me to the second reason I’m here.” Koré shifts her bag in front of her. She removes a box and hugs it under her arm—keeping it safe. The wooden box is nothing like the one with the Demon King’s ka, which I only now realize isn’t with her.

  I rock on my heels as the demon magic stirs in my chest, reminding me that though it may be dormant, it’s not asleep. “Is his soul . . . ,” I gasp, my throat parched.

  “It’s safe from your mother for now.” Koré scowls. “I’ve hidden it.” She opens the box, revealing scrolls and bones. “I can do nothing about the Ka-Priestess, but I come bearing gifts. Do you want to get rid of that nasty curse?”

  I’ll do anything to break the curse on my father and me. “Yes.”

  “It requires a steep price,” Koré warns. “The demon magic will not leave you willingly.”

  After the last ritual left me bedridden and took years from my life, I know the risk.

  I know the price.

  My years in exchange for freedom.

  I don’t hesitate to take the box. My fingers tremble as they brush hers, which feel surprisingly human. She glances away, but not before I see the profound sadness in her eyes. “Can you do me a favor?” I swallow the knot in my throat. I’m not afraid to perform the ritual, but I am afraid of failing again. “Can you tell my Grandmother . . . the chieftain of Tribe Aatiri . . . what’s happened? Tell her
that I need help.”

  “She already knows, Arrah,” Koré says, meeting my gaze again. “She called for me after her first vision of the green-eyed serpent at the Blood Moon Festival.”

  When Grandmother mentioned an old friend, I’d never have guessed an orisha. The orishas are not the gods of the tribal lands, but for better or worse, they’re still gods. Once more I’m left reeling.

  “The edam will help you, but their time is yet to come,” Koré adds, speaking in riddles again. “You must do whatever you can to delay your mother until they are ready to act.”

  “I don’t understand,” I murmur, but by then Koré has faded into the crowd. Grandmother can see across time and space, so has she discovered the right moment to strike? I think of all the times she read the bones and hid their meaning from me. She’d always answer my questions with: The time is not yet right for me to say. Did Grandmother know this would happen and still left me in the dark? If she had and couldn’t stop Arti, what good would it have done to tell me? Some of my frustration deflates. I don’t understand why, no, but I trust Grandmother and I’m relieved that she and the edam have a plan.

  When I catch the tail end of the caravan on the outskirts of town, no one seems to have noticed my absence. Sweat pours from my body beneath the oppressive heat and shallow air. Our caravan kicks up so much dust that even my shawl can’t block it. Our trek is silent for hours, save for the donkeys’ mournful brays.

  In the far west, crimson mountains press against the horizon. Behind us, a thick haze gathers around Kefu. It forms a near perfect sphere that renders the town invisible. It’s nothing like the green fog that settles in Tamar after a hard rain. The haze wraps around Kefu like a snake curled about its prey. Something tells me that it’s always like that, day or night, no matter the weather. Is it the manifestation of the coalesced demons? We don’t know much about demons, as the orishas intended, and now it makes sense why. The orishas never killed the demon race; they only trapped their kas. And some, like Shezmu, it seems, remain at large in the spirit world, still dangerous.

  The laborers stop for a respite, and Oshhe steps outside to stretch his legs. Arti leans over the side of the litter and whispers something to him. Her lips brush his ear, and I cringe inside. Seeing such a rare moment of affection between my parents used to warm my heart. Once, I craved my mother’s attention, and would do anything to win her favor. Now it turns my stomach to even look at her. Someone should wrench her out of her litter and stomp a mud hole in her. As soon as we’re settled in our new home, I’ll find a way to do this ritual and break the wretched bond between us.

  I want to believe that my father’s pride allows him to stand up to Arti in small ways. His eyes twitch sometimes. His hands, too. Sometimes he’s so still that I touch his arm to make sure he’s okay. Sometimes he paces. When Arti leans back into the litter, my father tells the laborers that we’re ready to go again. He walks over to Nezi and takes the extra bag she’s been carrying. Then instead of climbing back into the litter, he falls into step with her and she gives him a playful nudge. It all seems so normal on the surface.

  No bells signal the passage of time, and the eye of Re’Mec still sits in the same place in the sky. We’ve been walking for at least three or four hours, and the caravan’s pace begins to slow the farther we go. The desert beyond Kefu stretches as far as the eye can see. The sand is endless, and the shifting heat makes it impossible to tell how close we are to the mountains to the west.

  Walking beside her donkey, Terra slows until I catch up with her. We’re far enough behind the others that we can talk without being overheard.

  “This place feels cursed.” She reaches for the Kiva pendant around her neck.

  She’s right. The tribal lands are lush with feather touch magic. Here the magic is heavy. It settles in your bones. A thought strikes me and I stop. Has Arti found a way to tap into the orisha magic that binds the demons?

  Terra shields her eyes as she glances at the sky. “My family traveled through deserts, crossed wild lands, and voyaged across the sea. I’ve never seen the sun not move.”

  “It’s not the sun,” I realize, finally understanding Koré’s warning. “Time is wrong here.”

  To prove my point, when we look behind us again, the sky turns from high noon to purple to pitch-black. It happens in a matter of moments. It should be impossible, but time moves in Kefu at its own pace. After all the hours we’ve been traveling, the town still looks to be a short walk away. I almost think the heat is playing a trick on my mind, but there’s still the smell of fresh water and fish on the air.

  “Please tell me you’re seeing this too.” Terra stands completely still, her body rigid. “Tell me that I haven’t lost my mind.” Ahead where the caravan trots forward, the sun is still high noon, and no one else sees the broken sky.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. There’s nothing reassuring I can say. “I see it.”

  Terra mumbles a desperate plea. “Gods help us.”

  When I was little, my father and I prayed together before bedtime. Heka, protect me. Conceal me. Keep me safe. He said that Heka favored those who prayed to him. Now that I’ve seen Heka, heard his words in my mind, watched him turn his back on the tribes, I know it isn’t true. Any prayer that crosses my lips is out of habit and has no real meaning.

  Koré gave no sign that the other orishas are doing anything to help. The sun orisha Re’Mec with his ostrich feathers, ram horns, and eyes made of fire. Essi, the sky god. Nana, the world shaper. Mouran, the roar of the sea. Sisi, the breath of fire. Yookulu, the weaver of seasons. Kiva, the protector. Oma, the dreamer. Kekiyé, the shadow of gratitude. Ugeniou, the harvester. Fayouma, the mother. Fram, the balancer.

  I imagine they look like their statues, but no, that must be only one of their endless manifestations. Koré appeared to me in two forms, neither exactly like her statue. I hope that they’re doing something to help the edam, for with each moment that passes, I doubt myself more.

  Blisters cover my feet by the time we reach the sand-swept villa that is to be our new home. Terra’s face is scarlet from the sun. The others haven’t fared any better. There is magic here too, and as soon as we’re inside the granite wall, time shifts, and we’re in the early evening hours. Terra gasps, and Nezi whispers something to Ty. I press my lips together. My mother will not have the satisfaction of any reaction from me.

  Inside the wall, ducks float among lily pads and lotus blossoms in the middle of a pond. Palm and nehet trees glisten in the moonlight, healthier than any tree ought to be in the desert. Beds of lilies, daisies, and roses fill the garden. Birdsong breaks the silence.

  When Arti climbs from the litter, we stop cold, unable to trust our own eyes. Terra clutches her donkey’s lead rope so hard that her knuckles turn white. Nezi and Ty busy their eyes elsewhere. I cradle my belly as a whimper escapes my lips. Had they not understood before, they understand now. There’s no going back. No return to normal, or in our lives what passed as normal. My father doesn’t react to the change in Arti, and the laborers seem to not notice or care.

  Koré’s message from earlier taunts me. You must do whatever you can to delay your mother. It plays in my mind like a broken harmony as bile burns a trail up my throat. Under better circumstances, I’d laugh at the irony, but I can’t even breathe as I stare at my mother’s belly. It’s thrice the size it was when we left Tamar. Growing so fast. The child will soon be born.

  Part III

  She tastes of firestorms and ashes,

  Of new beginnings and endings.

  She is the monster stalking the dark,

  The savior guarding the light.

  She sleeps in a pit of vipers and fire,

  And awakes in a windstorm of fury.

  —Song of the Unnamed

  Twenty-Four

  The donkeys stamp their hooves and back away from my mother. Her gaze sweeps over the lot of us, her forehead slicked with sweat. She takes one step and falters. My heart lurches as the curse r
elents again. My father, Ty, and Nezi rush to Arti’s side.

  Terra stares at me with eyes stretched wide, the lead rope wound tight around her hand. She opens her mouth to speak, and I shake my head. I realize now that like me, she had no idea what was going on in our household.

  “I need rest,” Arti grunts, still hunched over. “The child stirs.”

  Oshhe and Ty walk with her across the courtyard and gardens to the arched entrance of the two-story villa. Nezi stays behind to oversee the laborers unloading the donkeys. I slip the box of scrolls into a sack and throw the strap across my shoulder. I can’t risk someone discovering them.

  The laborers spend hours carrying our possessions into the villa. Like earlier when the day stretched on far too long, night is never-ending. Perpetual darkness blankets the sky, and all the lights in the villa come to life on their own. The magic is simple, but here I don’t trust it. I stay with Terra in the kitchen, so neither of us is ever alone, although that won’t last beyond tonight.

  “How . . .” She lets her question hang in the air between us.

  With the tethers of the curse slack, I could reveal the truth about Arti, but I don’t want to drag Terra any deeper into my family’s troubles. There’s still a chance that she’s under my mother’s influence too, whether she knows it or not.

  Two of the laborers pass by the kitchen, heaving a large crate down the hall. “Ty likes you.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Get her to convince my mother to release your contract. Tell her you’re homesick, that you miss your family. Say whatever it takes.”

  Terra hugs an arm around her stomach. “I’ve been thinking about some things since the banishment . . .”

  I cut her off. “If Arti won’t release your contract, do your work, keep to yourself, be invisible. As soon as you get the chance, run away and don’t look back.”

  Tears streak through the dust on her cheeks from the trek across the desert, and my heart aches for her. “I’m scared, Arrah.”