Kingdom of Souls

by Rena Barron

  Once I take two steps into the garden, it plunges into darkness. I force myself to keep going. Beyond the gate, it’s still midday. Beyond the gate is the place of dreams. This place is something else. It’s a manifestation of where the orishas imprisoned the demons. My unconscious mind clings to it, stuck between life and death.

  I trudge forward, every step labored. I’m unable to see the villa, only unending darkness that bleeds into my eyes. A weight presses against my skin to keep me from returning home. The darkness means to keep my ka here—lost like a leaf on the wind.

  The darkness is something else too. It manifests into endless people crowded around me like a pit of writhing serpents. Men, women, and children covered in white ash like Tribe Litho.

  They screech in agitation and the sound scrapes against my mind. I cover my ears, but it does no good. Their screams are inside my head. I’m in this place, and this place is in me.

  The villa is my body—the brown stone, the asymmetrical shape, the arched entranceway. They’re all pieces of me.

  With my teeth gritted, I wade through the bodies and dozens of hands reach for me—smearing their hot ash everywhere they touch. My racing heartbeat echoes in the darkness, but I keep my focus. In this place, my mind is all I have.

  I push and shove.

  They clasp my shoulders and arms.

  “Don’t go,” they whisper.

  I elbow and duck.

  They block my path.

  “Stay with us,” they plead.

  A woman with braids stacked atop her head like a crown beckons to me from the door to the villa. It isn’t Grandmother; she’s much taller and not quite as slight. Arti is shorter, her form fuller like all Tribe Mulani women. It’s not Terra or Essnai or Kira either. The woman is my guide. She’s my cord to the living. She’s my path back to my body.

  I won’t let this be the end of me.

  Sweat pours from my forehead by the time I’m through the tribe. It isn’t until we’re standing close to each other that the shadows lift from the woman’s form, and I realize: she is me. I’m her.

  Although she is young, she looks tired and worn, and her skin is sallow. But she smiles. A weary smile. A warm smile. I shake off the last hands holding me back and reach for her. When we touch, she inhales a sharp breath.

  I stand in her place now, looking upon the people in the dark with their hollow cheeks and sunken shoulders. They stare at me with sad eyes that glow with the mark of demons. They open their arms to invite me back into their fold, their collective plea a chorus on a dead wind. Koré told me that the demons here take bits and pieces of your soul, but these demons are different from the depraved ones that taunted me in the desert. I almost pity them, until I remind myself why the orishas trapped them here.

  “You will not have my soul,” I say to the demons. “I promise you that.”

  When I awake from that place of dreams and nightmares, Arti is at my bedside. She’s nursing a baby and startles when I move. The child looks to be six months or more. The ritual shouldn’t have knocked me out more than a few days, but it’s hard to tell how much time has passed when time has no meaning here.

  Arti is gaunt with dark circles under her eyes. She sighs and the tension melts from her shoulders. There’s no mistaking her relief at seeing me alive. “I keep underestimating you, daughter,” she says, drawing her lips tight. “I won’t do that again.”

  My mouth is too dry to answer, my tongue too tired to move, and I can’t stop staring at the child. She has our mother’s golden honey complexion and wild black curls. Her green eyes shine with an insatiable appetite that rivals our mother’s too. She gurgles. Actually gurgles like a normal baby. Had I not seen the deeds that brought her into existence, I’d think that she’s like every other six-month-old. I’d cradle her in my arms, glad to have a little sister.

  Efiya, Efiya, Efiya. The invisible demons crowding the room sing her name.

  I’m weak for now. It’ll take time to build up my strength again.

  But when I do, I will kill my sister.

  Twenty-Six

  Efiya’s wistful cries drift into my room as Arti paces the hallway to calm her. She’s been like this the whole day, and no amount of walking or cuddling seems to help. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I’m grateful that she’s keeping our mother busy. Even the demons in the walls fall silent in the wake of her despair. As far as I can tell, Arti has done nothing save for answer to Efiya’s every whim. Her plan to unleash the Demon King’s ka is on hold for now, and I intend to make sure it stays that way.

  My head throbs, and I want to escape to the gardens to think. But though it’s been days since I woke from the ritual, I’m still too weak to get out of bed. I strain to move my legs again and spasms tear through my spine. I slump against the pillows. Outside my window the sun is overcast; the clouds ripe for a storm. In Tamar, the sky is like this during Osesé—when cool winds wrap around the city and rain floods the Serpent River. We left the Kingdom in the middle of Ooruni, which means that I’ve missed a whole season between the two. Koré warned me about Kefu, but nothing could have prepared me for this.

  Not for the first time, my mind falls on Grandmother and the other edam. I don’t know if a day or a year has passed for the rest of the world, but I wonder why they haven’t come yet. Koré can’t expect me to delay Arti for long, not with how fast Efiya is growing. Not that I’ve been able to distract my mother when she’s so preoccupied with . . . my sister.

  At nightfall, Ty sweeps into my room with a tray in her arms, and I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. I hope it isn’t lukewarm broth or tepid water again. I peer past her into the hall as Arti rocks Efiya against her chest, stroking her curly hair. A pang of longing moves through me, and I bite my tongue. Ty smiles. She’s been in a good mood since the ritual. Having a new baby in the house has lifted her spirits.

  “Hello Ty.” I return her smile. Despite everything that’s happened, I’m glad that she’s well. I straighten my back against the headboard before I catch one of her disapproving hisses. At least I can do that on my own now. It was worse the first days after the ritual when Ty and Terra had to prop me upright and feed me because I couldn’t move. Neither complained, and I was grateful for that too.

  Ty sets the tray on the table beside the bed, and a delightful smell whiffs up my nose. Peanuts, roasted tomatoes, and ginger. It reminds me of home, of the East Market, of Rudjek. Another pang. This one is a different kind of longing, an ache stirring in my heart. He’ll be mad that I haven’t written, but whenever I leave this gods-awful place, I’ll make him understand.

  My stomach growls and Ty’s smile widens. She’s brought two bowls of soup and a ball of seeded bread to split between us. For a while we eat in silence, Efiya’s cries tempering the mood. The soup is the most delicious thing I’ve eaten in days.

  “Why does she cry all the time?” I ask Ty, who looks up from her bowl at my question.

  Ty points to her mouth and when I don’t understand, she taps one of her teeth.

  “She’s teething?” I grimace. Even with the evidence in front of my face, I never thought of Efiya as going through the normal stages of childhood. Koré said that time was finicky in Kefu, but Arti and Efiya must somehow be manipulating it.

  Ty nods as she takes a stylus and paper from the pocket of her apron and writes a message. “Reminds me of you. You were a fussy baby.”

  “Don’t compare me to that thing.” I drop my spoon against the porcelain bowl and the clank echoes between us. “She’s nothing like me. She’s hardly even human.”

  Ty shakes her head and puts the note in her pocket. We pass the rest of our dinner in silence, and after she’s gone, I spend my evening reciting the two rituals in my mind. The box of scrolls had been missing from underneath my bed when I checked after waking up. I should’ve hidden them, but it doesn’t matter. I had enough sense to bury the ancestor bones before I went into the desert. I still need to break the curse on my father. With hi
s curse broken, he’ll be able to help me slow Arti down until the edam can come.

  I fall asleep with rituals teeming around the edges of my mind and the sound of Efiya crying in the background. In the twilight hours, I’m startled awake by a sudden presence. Someone curls against my back and buries their face in my hair. The touch is so comforting that sleep almost lulls me back into its grasp.

  My breath catches in my throat as I turn over, moaning from the pain ripping through my muscles. A girl peers at me with pale green eyes full of curiosity. Her wiry hair sticks up every which way. Efiya. She’s grown again—a child of six or seven now.

  “I saw you before.” Efiya climbs to her knees, then feet. She bounces around the bed, her hands balled into little fists as she jumps higher and higher. “You were some place you weren’t supposed to be.”

  She must be talking about the vision, when she traveled into the past, long ago—when I first sold my years. The magic that clings to her now is even stronger than it had been then.

  “You . . .” The word grinds against my raw throat.

  Efiya blinks at me, then reaches down to touch my neck. “Is that better?”

  The pain fades, leaving the taste of blood in my mouth. “How much time has passed?”

  “Time?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Time isn’t important here, silly.”

  “How are you aging so much,” I ask, frowning, “when I am not?”

  “Because I want to,” Efiya answers. “Mother doesn’t let you and the others succumb to the whims of time.”

  “So you really are six?” I ask, hesitant.

  “Seven!” She grins. “Since I woke you up a year has passed for me while it’s only been moments for you.”

  I can’t wrap my mind around it, but it’s true. She’s a little taller, her cheeks a little less round. The change happened in the blink of an eye.

  I try to sit up, but my body doesn’t cooperate. It never does at first. It takes a while for the stiffness to leave my bones.

  “I don’t know anything about you.” She points at my forehead. “I can’t see inside your mind, not like the others. I know their spoken and unspoken words, but you . . . you’re different. Why?”

  “Go ask Arti,” I spit, “and leave me alone.”

  “Mother doesn’t know,” Efiya says. “I can see everything in her mind.”

  “Does it matter, then?” I snap.

  “I don’t know yet.” She frowns. “Do you want to play in the gardens?”

  “Does it look like I can play right now?” I glare at her. Only this evening she was a baby still in Arti’s arms and now she’s a little girl. A little girl with endless questions like any other child. Eyes as bright as lightning bugs. A smile so . . . so pure that my mind struggles to connect her to the horrible ritual in the Temple—to her making. A child, but for how long?

  At the pace she’s growing, I won’t be able to do anything to stop her. For now she hasn’t harmed anyone. I want to believe that Heka’s vision was wrong, that there’s another way, another possibility, but I’m not a fool either.

  “I can fix you!” Excited again, she bounces on the bed. “I know how.”

  Every bounce sends a shock of pain as her magic slams into my spine. “Stop,” I yelp. “Please!”

  The room door flies open and Arti rushes across the space. She grabs Efiya from behind—the girl kicks and screams in protest. “I was fixing her!” she says. “Let me fix her.”

  “Stop it!” Arti’s tone is sharp, and Efiya ceases her hissy fit at once.

  Arti puts her down. “I told you not to use magic on her. Why did you disobey me?”

  “She needed fixing.” Efiya furiously twirls her trousers’ string around her finger. “I only wanted to help.”

  Arti’s magic crackles in the room and she cuts a look so dangerous that Efiya falls still. “Never go against what I say, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Mother,” she answers, her bottom lip trembling.

  “Good girl.” Arti pats her shoulder, and Efiya offers a shy smile in return. “We have work to do.”

  “Get her out of my room!” I manage to croak, tears masking my rage.

  I’ve failed again. I fail at everything. I can’t stand the sight of either of them.

  Arti raises an eyebrow at me and holds my gaze a beat too long. She looks like she’s going to say something; instead she puts a hand on Efiya’s back and walks her from the room.

  I’m so angry that my whole body shakes. I can’t keep lying around doing nothing. I can’t keep hoping that the edam will save me, and stop my mother and Efiya. I grit my teeth and sweep my legs over the side of the bed. A dull ache spreads down my spine, but the pain is bearable for the first time since breaking my mother’s curse. I take a step, stumble, and catch myself against the wall. Sweat streaks down my forehead as I try again and again and again. I keep trying as time in Kefu flashes from night to day to night in a matter of moments. In that time, walking becomes natural again. For what it’s worth, Efiya’s magic did help, but I don’t know why she even bothered.

  I stare at my gaunt face in the mirror. I have dark circles and lines that weren’t there before. My skin is ashen, and there are still scabs on the bridge of my nose, healing over from sunburn. Bruises cover my arms and from my aches, they must cover the rest of my body too. I look like one of the charlatans in the market. I am a charlatan. What will it cost when I do the ritual again to free my father? How soon before there will be nothing left to pay?

  I open the door to my room and step into the hallway. The demons in the walls seem to hold their breath. I’m thankful that they don’t talk to me like the two in the desert. I have to force myself to not think about the demon magic. How without it, it feels like someone’s stolen one of my vital organs, and I’m surviving off a phantasm, a memory, a dream. Still, I’m relieved the ritual worked. I have full control over my actions again without the curse curling in my chest, enforcing its will on me.

  Arti’s and Efiya’s matching singsong voices drift from the room across the hall. Efiya’s room. I step close to eavesdrop. I expect to hear Arti telling Efiya how proud she is of her, how she’s the daughter of her dreams. How she’s so very gifted, or so very pretty, but their conversation isn’t about anything so benign.

  “He’s in a very dark place,” Efiya blurts out, her little voice shaking. “Very dark.”

  “Describe what you see,” Arti presses. “What else is around the box?”

  After a long pause, Efiya answers, “I . . . I only see darkness.”

  “You’re not trying hard enough,” Arti hisses, her desperation almost palpable.

  “But I am trying, Mother,” Efiya whines. “My head hurts again.”

  “Once more,” Arti commands, dismissing Efiya’s complaints. “Close your eyes and seek out his ka. Let your mind reach beyond your body, beyond the villa, beyond this world. Search in every crevasse, every space, follow the lines that connect everything in our universe. Find where the orisha has hidden it.”

  “I see too many lines, too many possibilities, too many futures.” Efiya sounds near the verge of crying, and I can’t help but feel sorry for her. I know what it’s like to disappoint our mother. “I can’t follow them all. They are endless . . . can I stop now? I’m tired.”

  She is the daughter my mother always wanted, but Arti treats her no better than she treats me. She is everything that I could never be. I should be glad that our mother is disappointed in her too, but I’m not.

  Arti inhales a sharp breath. “We will rest for now, but you must practice on your own.”

  “Can I go back to see Arrah?” asks the little girl.

  The question catches me off guard, and it must do the same to Arti because there’s a long silence before she speaks. “If you want to see your sister, then you must try harder to find the Demon King’s ka.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Efiya says as sweet as milk candy. “I will, I promise.”

  Efiya is part demon, but
she’s also part human. Perhaps I can use that to my advantage, if she’s taken an interest in me. She is only a child, full of wonder. Arti needs her to release the Demon King, that much is clear, but two can play my mother’s game. The object of jackals and hounds is to outwit your opponent. Now I have a strategy of my own. I’ve seen that my sister is capable of empathy despite all that my mother’s done to mold her into a pawn. Children are innocent, and I intend to keep Efiya that way.

  Twenty-Seven

  The sound of Arti’s footfalls echoes beneath my door as she returns to her room after lessons with Efiya. Wasting no time, I pad across the hall. Hushed whispers drift from Efiya’s room. Her voice is too low to hear, so I invite myself in, like she did when she snuck into my room.

  Efiya stands on her bed, facing the wall. There are no candles or lit jars of oil in the room, yet an iridescent light fills the space. The furniture is sparse. Aside from the bed, there’s a dresser with a full-length mirror and a lounge chair. There are toys scattered everywhere—dolls, balls, and blocks to build things.

  As I step farther into the room, the floor moans underneath my feet. Efiya doesn’t notice me as she whispers to the wall behind her bed. At first I think she’s playing make-believe, then my eyes adjust to the soft light. Hundreds of faces with hollow eyes and mouths of tar stretch from the wall in silent screams. Writhing tendrils twine around the bed and snake toward me. I stumble back, and almost lose my footing.

  “No, you can’t have her,” Efiya yells at the wall. “She’s my sister.”

  I can’t bring myself to speak, and I don’t trust my legs. I stand still, clenching my stomach. The darkness is an echo of all the demons’ kas trapped in Kefu, unable to ascend, unable to rest, coalesced in a prison of the orishas’ making.

  Efiya turns around and breaks into a conspiratorial smile. “Arrah.” On her lips, my name is a sweet, menacing lullaby. “You’ve come to play!”