Kingdom of Souls

by Rena Barron

  I pace around the gardens to calm my nerves, but it doesn’t help. I keep expecting to see her little face poke from behind a tree. I wish things could be different. But I can’t forget that she turned children into ndzumbi and released a demon from its prison. The mangy ginger cat is gone too. Terra and I have searched up and down for him.

  I pass by Nezi tilling the soil in the vegetable garden. She’s been at it all day without rest. Even though she’s covered in dirt, I still see the red welts on the back of her hands. I keep walking. I haven’t been able to face her since the first time the children came to the villa. Ty has been avoiding her too. I find our matron standing in the kitchen door, staring at the wall that surrounds the outer edge of the gardens. She wrings a dirty dishrag in her hands. Terra is next to the well, washing clothes in a barrel, scrubbing so hard that her fingers must be raw. She doesn’t talk either. None of us do. We wait.

  At least Efiya released her control over the children. One day in the middle of running in the gardens with them, she said she didn’t want to play anymore. On her command they snapped out of their trances. The younger ones began to cry. Terra and I took them home to parents who hadn’t even known they were missing, because of Efiya’s magic.

  The children who came from the streets, I put on a barge headed for Tamar with a letter addressed to the orphanage. I stopped myself again from sending a letter to Rudjek. It was harder the second time. I can’t say how long we’ve been in Kefu. Sometimes it seems like years have passed and sometimes mere bells. Sometimes the sky doesn’t change for days. The eye of Re’Mec tilts at an angle like it’s about to spill lava from its mouth. The thought of years passing in the rest of the world makes me anxious. Rudjek could be fully grown by now. Essnai and Sukar, Majka and Kira too. Would they forget me, or hate me because I haven’t written? Either way, now that I’ve seen Efiya’s powers, I know that I can never ask my friends to come here. I couldn’t live with knowing what would happen.

  And the edam. What’s become of them and their plan? Something must have gone wrong, otherwise Grandmother would be here by now. Oshhe sits cross-legged on the second-level wraparound balcony with his eyes closed. Even though I would give more of my years without regret to free my father, the risk is too great. If I fall into another deep sleep, Efiya could release the Demon King and I would’ve done nothing to stop her. I bite back my tears and they ball up inside me, brewing and swelling like tides, aching to break free.

  Heka showed me a mountain of broken bodies piled so high that they reached the edge of the sky. Blood rained down on the Kingdom. Puddles turned into lakes and lakes into raging rivers. I can’t let that happen.

  “I’m sorry, Father.” I press my hand to my heart. “I’m breaking my promise again.”

  Arti paces back and forth on the balcony. At night, she stalks up and down the hall, waiting for Efiya to come home. She’s been more agitated than usual, so Efiya must’ve left without telling her either. If so, then what new perverse thing has captured my sister’s attention? After she turned children into ndzumbi, I can’t fathom what else she’s capable of. I’m worried that she’ll do something even worse.

  I stop turning in circles and sit with my back against the nehet tree closest to the pond, alone save for the ducks. I’m waiting for a good moment to dig up the ancestor bones I buried here before the ritual. No telling how many years this next ritual will take from me, and no guarantee that it’ll work, but it’s worth a try. The ancestors are our link between the living and the ascended, and we call upon them for help and guidance. Before, Oshhe often called them through dream visions and Grandmother read their bones to see the future. I will use their bones in a different way. I’ll use them to call my ancestors across time to join with me if they choose to answer. Now I wait for Efiya. My plan depends upon her presence.

  Since she’s been gone, the demons in the walls whisper in my ear at night, calling me ndzumbi because I’ve given up so many of my years to magic. They say that I don’t have enough life to give for another ritual. They say that I’m as good as dead, but I don’t care. I don’t want to die, but if trading my years means I can stop Arti and Efiya, then I’ll do it again.

  I convince myself that I’ll know if she releases the Demon King because I’ve felt his magic before. It was at once a calming force and a raging fire inside me; it protected me, it almost seduced me. His magic gave me the one thing that I’ve always wanted. No longer was I the charlatan daughter born of two powerful witchdoctors, desperate for magic. Arti had in fact given me a gift in her own twisted way—magic that answered to me without question, and without having to trade my years. It’s gone now, and I miss it.

  Efiya’s presence pricks against my skin, and she steps out of thin air in front of me. I jump to my feet, refusing to believe my own eyes. My sister . . . she’s . . . My mind tries to make sense of the girl standing face-to-face with me, no longer a child. She’s the very spitting image of our mother, but even more beautiful. She’s like the orisha statues at the Temple—hard to look at too long. If the Unnamed orisha was unremarkable, then Efiya is on the other end of the spectrum. She’s as old as me now.

  I drop down on the grass again, breathless. “You’re back.”

  “Did you miss me?” Efiya’s words flow like the sweetest song, her voice all grown-up.

  I tighten my arms around my knees but don’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. She smiles at my clenched fists. She knows that I fear her whims. It was only a little while ago that she delivered her first nasty surprise.

  “Are you well, Arrah?” she asks, sitting down across from me. “You look a little ill.”

  Her magic scrapes my mind like cat claws against stone. She doesn’t let her frustration show when she’s met with a barrier that she cannot penetrate. I allow myself the smallest smile. My mind is still my own. Even if it’s nothing compared to the demon magic or my sister’s, it’s something that will always be my one advantage over her. Something that will always be truly mine. “Quite well,” I grumble.

  “You are an enigma.” Efiya takes one of my braids into her hand. She runs her fingers down the length of it. “One day I’ll see inside your mind and know your secrets.”

  I blink at her. “Why does it bother you so much that you can’t see in my mind?”

  “I see all the possibilities of what can and will be.” Efiya twirls my hair around her finger. “I see across time with little effort, but when I focus on you, the future is blank. I can’t see the consequences of any action I take against you or any action of yours. Why is that, dear sister?”

  For all the magic she has, she lacks common sense. The answer is obvious, isn’t it? I swallow hard, but it doesn’t soothe my parched throat. I haven’t been the same since the first ritual, and the second one took a little more from me. I’ve walked the plane between life and death. The demons caught my soul and almost wove me into the tapestry of Kefu. Even with most of my strength back, there’s a part of me missing.

  I’m already dead in her future. That’s the answer. I’ve traded enough years that I ought to be. “You’re giving me a headache asking questions I can’t answer.”

  Efiya tugs at my braid so hard that my scalp screams. I reach up and pull one of her loose curls back. She seems delighted by this exchange and laughs. In this way, she isn’t the sixteen-year-old girl she appears to be. She still marvels at the oddest of things because she’s never experienced them before.

  I snatch my hand away and press my fists against my legs again. I can’t forget who she is, what she is, the things she’s done. She plucked a demon’s ka from thin air. “Where have you been?”

  “Hunting,” Efiya whispers like she’s sharing her most sacred secret. “I killed an orisha today.”

  My mind reels with a thousand horrible thoughts. “You what?” I say, my head pounding.

  Efiya frowns. “He wouldn’t tell me where Koré hid the Demon King’s ka.”

  I shake my head, my whole body trembling. “Ef
iya, you must stop. Can’t you see what will happen if you release the Demon King? The world will bleed.”

  “Yes.” She leans closer to me, her eyes bright. “And I have seen the afterworld too. It’s beautiful, sister.”

  I wipe away tears as a lanky middle-aged man with pockmarked, suntanned skin steps into the garden. Nezi is with him. Nezi’s limp is gone, and she walks with a newfound confidence. At first I’m confused, and think that Efiya has healed her. That is, until I see that both her eyes and the man’s are shades of green with a spark of light that isn’t natural. The man runs his fingers through his greasy hair and winks at me. He has the same mangy hair as the ginger cat—but I can’t stop gaping at Nezi. She’s never walked straight in all my years of knowing her, and there’s nothing left of her in these cold eyes.

  “Nezi?” I stutter.

  The thing pretending to be our porter smiles.

  “She’s wanted to die since Ka-Priest Ren Eké hurt her,” Efiya says. “Mother should’ve done it a long time ago, but she’s too sentimental.”

  I’m stunned into silence. My heart aches for Nezi—the real Nezi. I’d seen her only moments ago in the vegetable garden, or was it already the demon I saw then? I hadn’t known she felt that way; I hadn’t even suspected it. Ty, maybe, because of her outbursts, but never Nezi.

  “Do you like my new vessel, Arrah?” muses the ginger-haired Merka. “It’s rather plain, but better than the cat, isn’t it?”

  “I will speak to you now, Efiya,” Arti calls down from the balcony, her voice tight.

  “Coming, Mother!” Efiya calls back, not even bothering to look Arti’s way.

  “I took your advice, sister.” She climbs to her feet. I watch as beyond her, a horde of demons—too many to count—enters through the gates of our villa, and I can’t hide from the truth. My sister has released hundreds of demons to feast upon the kas of unsuspecting people. She’s killed an orisha without a second thought. All this time, I was worried about the Demon King, but Heka’s warning had been about her too. “I’m building my court. Don’t worry, I’ll leave Ty and Oshhe for Mother, and Terra for you. It’s only fair that you have playthings too.”

  She arches an eyebrow like she’s expecting me to thank her.

  “Do you like my subjects?” Efiya beams. “I’ll make you one too if you want.”

  I say nothing, clutching strands of her hair in my fist while she slips back into the void.

  Ancestor bones.

  Bitter iboga bark.

  Mint and ginger.

  Palm oil.

  Hair.

  Ancestor bones.

  Bitter iboga bark.

  Mint and ginger.

  Palm oil.

  Hair.

  I mean to kill my sister tonight.

  Twenty-Nine

  When evening settles upon the villa, Efiya steps into the void and vanishes. A weight lifts from my shoulders. She’s left none of herself behind to watch. With her gone, the villa is more spacious, the air cleaner. Her magic, along with Arti’s, had felt like a thousand beating wings bearing down on me.

  Arms crossed, I lean against the porter’s house as Merka marches the other demons toward Kefu. There are at least two hundred of them, if not more. My sister hasn’t raised that many demons as a simple game. She’s raised an army. She means to bring the Kingdom to its knees. Rudjek, Sukar, Essnai, Majka, Kira—everyone—will be in danger if I can’t stop her.

  Once the demons are gone, I walk to the nehet tree near the pond, careful to keep my steps unhurried in case Arti is watching. I wait until nightfall to search for the bones. My fingers meet nothing but the cool underbelly of the soil beneath the warm top layer. They’re not here.

  Sweat glides down my forehead and my back. Did I bury the bones under another tree? Did Arti find them? A white haze of confusion clouds my thoughts. Where are they? The grave was shallow. It shouldn’t take this long to find.

  Oshhe clears his throat behind me. “You never listen to my stories anymore, Little Priestess.”

  I pivot around on my heels, my heart pounding against my ribs. My father stands tall and still like one of the stone monuments in Tamar. He’s always been a lean man, but he’s too thin now, his cheeks and shoulders bony, his features sharp. Shame washes over me and I look away. I haven’t given up hope for him, but for now, stopping Efiya is more important.

  “You haven’t told any stories in a long time,” I remind him. “I miss hearing them.” What I don’t say is that right after the curse when he still told stories—it wasn’t the same without his heart in them.

  My father frowns as his attention shifts to the holes. “What are you doing?”

  I suck in a deep breath through my teeth. “I’m digging holes.”

  Oshhe stares at me, his eyes sharp for once. It’s the magic inside him on alert. If he thinks that I’m acting against Arti, he’ll try to stop me, but my mother is the least of my concerns now. She said that she wouldn’t underestimate me again, but behind her cold words there was a spark of pride—a spark of respect. Of course I almost had to die to win my mother’s approval.

  “I’m going to plant rain daisies in the morning.” I bite my lip. “Like back home.”

  When I say back home, my father’s face lights up. There’s nostalgia in his eyes, and a longing that breaks my heart. “They should do well here if we keep them watered.” I brush my fingers across the soil, remembering another garden and another time. “Even if the air’s dry.”

  My father rubs his chin. “Yes, I think so . . .”

  “Under the nehet tree will make a good spot.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

  Some part of him must know that something—everything—is wrong, but he can’t make sense of his thoughts. Since we’ve been in Kefu, he’s less and less himself. He rarely tries to make conversation, let alone tell stories. Arti is always too busy scheming with Efiya to notice. “They would do better by the pond, where they can get more sunlight. You should know that, Little Priestess.”

  “You’re right,” I admit after an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll dig new holes tomorrow. I’m tired.”

  “I’ll go to the market in the morning and get some milk candy.” His voice is full of excitement. “We’ll work in the gardens together, like we used to. It’s been far too long, and I miss spending time with you. You’re growing up so fast.”

  I smile, my heart collapsing in my chest. I want so badly to go back to those times. “What do you think of your other daughter? Has she not grown up even faster?”

  Oshhe never talks to Efiya. With the way time passes in Kefu, he hasn’t gotten the chance to know her. She doesn’t share the bond that I have with him. I can’t help but think if our father had been himself, he could’ve helped me sway her.

  “She has.” Oshhe smiles. “You both have grown up so fast. My two little priestesses.”

  “She’s not a little priestess.” I grit my teeth. “She’s a damn demon.”

  “Would you like to hear a story now?” Oshhe asks, not listening to me.

  “Not now, Father.” I cringe. “Tomorrow when we’re planting the daisies.”

  “Good.” Oshhe claps once. “I’ll tell you a story about one of my ancestors.”

  He smiles, but he doesn’t tarry much longer. I turn the ground belly-up beneath three separate nehet trees before I find the bones. Sweat trickles down my back, and my fingertips are raw from digging. The moonlight shimmers in the soil and my mind turns to Koré. I haven’t seen her since the day I broke Arti’s curse.

  Once I have the bones, I steep half the iboga bark in mint and ginger tea and wedge the other piece under my tongue. It tastes nutty at first but turns sour after a while. By the time the brew is ready, my mouth is numb and my tongue feels fat and useless. Once Efiya’s presence wafts around the villa again, I go back to my room to begin the final stages of the ritual.

  I sit in front of the mirror in my room, threading Efiya’s hair around the bones. Every nerve in my body pushes me to
hurry, but rituals take time, even in this place where time has no meaning. I must be patient. Ancestor magic demands respect. It’s the same as respecting one’s elders. The bones are so small it takes me several tries to get it right. Finally, I grease the bones with palm oil and secure them to my left hand with a piece of cloth. I drink the mint and ginger tea and wait.

  I am Arrah.

  Hear my voice, great ancestors.

  Hear my plea.

  Answer my need.

  Bless me with your presence.

  With my Tamaran accent the Aatiri words are rough on my tongue—I’ve been practicing them only in my head for so long. Now the wait begins. Time passes with the drumming of my heartbeat, the rise and fall of my breaths. So much time that doubt crawls into my mind. The demons in the walls whisper that I won’t have enough years to trade for another ritual. The longer I wait for the magic to come, the more I fear they’re right. I repeat the words again, slower, drawing out each syllable. This time, sparks of magic drift through the walls and the ceiling. I hold my breath as it floats in the air, still deciding if it wants to answer my call. Instead of lighting on my skin, it forms a circle around me.

  Fire tears through my muscles. I clench my jaw tight to keep from passing out, and soon the pain fades—quicker than it has before. My gums ache, and when I poke around my mouth with my tongue, one of my back teeth shakes free. I reach up with a trembling hand, desperate to put it back in place, foolish to think that I can. When I finally give up, I hold the tooth in my palm—it’s riddled with black rot. Magic takes of you what it will, my father said. It could take a little or all your years. By some small grace, this time, it hasn’t crippled me. A tooth is a small price to pay.

  Fog creeps from the bones and obscures my view, but only in the mirror. My bedroom remains unchanged. My eyes ache from staring too long and I blink. In my reflection, three women appear behind me. My heart races against my chest. Even though I hoped that the ritual would work, it still catches me off guard.