by Rena Barron
When I look over my shoulder, there’s no one. The three great Aatiri ancestors are with me only in spirit. Their eyes are white and their faces blank. I go to my knees and rest my hands flat on my thighs to show respect.
I’m not to speak before they do, so I wait again. They blink and their eyes change from all white to all black. The one in the middle, who reminds me of Grandmother, speaks first. Her voice is hoarse and commanding.
“Who are you to call upon us?” she asks.
For the magic to work, I must convince them of my worth and learn their names. “I’m Arrah,” I answer, “daughter of Oshhe, who is son of Mnekka, the great Aatiri chieftain.”
The woman smiles. “Mnekka was my favorite granddaughter.”
“And I’m her favorite.” At least I hope I am.
The woman nods. “I’m Nyarri.”
I wait again.
The other two women seem inclined to make me wait longer.
I itch to say something first, but still my tongue.
My fists clenched against my lap begin to tremble. Please. Please. Please. I need them to concede their names and agree to help me kill Efiya. I can’t do it on my own. “Please,” I whisper.
“Begging will not work,” hisses the woman to Nyarri’s right. “You’re not a true Aatiri, girl. Mulani blood runs through your veins.”
“You do not speak our language well,” adds the woman to Nyarri’s left, her voice cold. “How dare you call upon us if you do not know our customs?”
I squeeze my fists so hard that my fingernails dig into my flesh. “I have Mulani blood, yes. Yet I’m still of you, too. Am I not worthy of your help because I’m different? Am I not worthy because I didn’t grow up in Tribe Aatiri and I don’t speak your language? Judge my worth on who I am, not what I’m not. I’m still of your flesh. Answer my call, ancestors, and hear my plea. I need your help.”
“Spoken like a true Aatiri.” The ancestor on the left nods approvingly. “I’m Ouula.”
The ancestor on the right scoffs at me and waves her hand. She acts like I’ve done some trick to win over the other two. She doesn’t wear her hair in the braids that are common among the Aatiri. Her coils are loose about her head and stick up every which way, like my hair when I don’t braid it. Even though I look like my mother, I have this ancestor’s deep-set eyes.
Since she’s already spoken, I ask, “Can you deny that I am of you, ancestor?”
She crosses her arms. She is stubborn like me too.
“If you can deny that I am your blood,” I press, “then I will beg your forgiveness.”
The woman’s frown softens, even if she still looks at me sideways.
“I’m Arra.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “I suppose you are my namesake.”
I inhale and blow out a shaky breath. Now that that’s over, I can give the ancestors my request. I don’t explain all the details, but what I do share leaves them seething. They argue among themselves about how typical it is of a Mulani to be so shortsighted. I hate to cut them off, but I remind them that time is of the essence.
“Carry us inside you to the green-eyed serpent,” Nyarri says, “and we’ll do the rest.”
This has to work. Without help from the edam or Koré, it’s my best and last chance. “I’m ready.” I struggle to my feet and my legs tremble from the burden of what I must do.
Arra clucks her tongue. “Let’s go, girl. You’re not strong enough to hold us for long.”
When I leave the mirror, they walk in my wake, silent and invisible. We reach the salon where Efiya is with Merka and the demon who’s taken Nezi’s body and name. My sister sits on a pedestal upon a throne inlaid with jewels and gold. It’s an exact replica of the throne in the Almighty Palace—of which I’ve only seen a few times. That means that Efiya must’ve gone to the Kingdom. My pulse throbs so hard that my eardrums vibrate. My mind immediately falls on my friends, and I don’t so much as walk as stumble closer to my sister.
Merka is complaining about something, as usual, but Efiya isn’t listening anymore. She rises from her chair—her smile growing bigger each step she takes toward me. She knows. Of course she does.
“Bring us closer,” Ouula whispers.
Excitement gleams in Efiya’s eyes as I close the space between us. My sister wants this challenge; she expected it. I haven’t fooled her with my act. She’s too smart for that, too clever to fall into my trap. No one would dare stand against a girl who can pluck demon souls from thin air like plucking apples from a tree. A girl who can step into the space between time to travel great distances. A girl who can turn children into ndzumbi. My sister is every scary story my father ever told about evil witchdoctors—only she’s so much worse. But I’m not a child anymore, and even if my knees shake beneath her wicked glare, I will not relent.
Efiya glances over my shoulder—her smile growing bigger. “You are full of surprises, sister.”
Merka and Nezi remain on the pedestal, looking cross that Efiya isn’t paying attention to them anymore. Not seeing the ancestors, they carry on their conversation without her.
“Well?” Efiya arches one eyebrow in anticipation.
I’ve tried to imagine what my sister would be like had she not been born under such horrible circumstances. Would she be sweet and playful? Would she be bold and headstrong? How different would she be if not for the demon magic and Arti guiding her every move? She’d be a baby to cuddle in my arms, then a little girl to trail behind me in the market. She’d want to go fishing with Rudjek and me, and although I’d complain about it, I wouldn’t dream of leaving her behind. The thought of that version of Efiya sends a pang of longing in my belly. Longing for something that will never be. We will never be real sisters. We will never be anything but enemies. Our mother has made sure of that.
“Now, girl,” Nyarri hisses in my ear. “Release us.”
When the ancestors leave my shadow, Merka and Nezi startle, but Efiya does not. The force of the ancestors’ kas hits her so hard that it knocks me backward. I crash into a wall, but leap to my feet again, head spinning, chest on fire. They converge upon Efiya like a raging storm, and something inside me aches. A part of me wishes they could rip the demon magic from her soul and leave the girl behind. The girl who could be so much more. Slashes appear across Efiya’s throat, arms, and chest as wind hollers in the room like a wild beast. But the cuts heal almost immediately, which forces me out of my useless reverie. My sister is exactly who she is meant to be and that will never change.
Efiya bursts into flames as another ancestor unleashes her magic. The fire burns stark white, and my sister’s skin blisters and cracks, then it flakes away in heavy ashes. She doesn’t make so much as a sound as the fire consumes her, as she becomes a thing made of flames—a girl-shaped fire. When she retakes human form, she begins to shrivel up, wrinkling like leather left in the sun too long. That doesn’t work either. Everything the ancestors throw at Efiya only slows her down for a moment.
I take the knife hidden beneath my sleeve and run at my sister. Merka steps in front of me at the last moment, and my knife plunges into his heart. Blood covers my trembling hand as I wrench the knife from his chest. He stumbles back, and Efiya grabs his shoulder. The wound closes before my eyes. Merka straightens himself up as Nezi steps to Efiya’s other side.
It’s too late. I can’t hold the ancestors’ kas any longer. They untether from me with a snap that leaves me breathless. Efiya smiles as pain slices through my spine and I drop to my knees. She catches the knife as it falls from my hand. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you, dear sister.” She presses the blade against my throat. Her eyes gleam with excitement again. This is a game to her, no different from when she made the boy cut off his thumb to give as a gift. “If I like the reason, then I will spare your life. If I don’t . . .” She shrugs.
I’m working my mouth to spit in her face when Arti steps to my side, her magic wrapping around me. Our mother’s expression is as emotionless as always. Maybe she’ll tell Efiya to do
it, to finally put an end to me. I don’t know why she’s let me live this long now that she has the daughter she always wanted. Instead Arti crosses her arms, her eyes hard. “I’ll give you the only reason that matters.”
Merka and Nezi glare at her, but Efiya only tilts her head to the side to let our mother know that she’s listening.
“You can’t foresee the consequences of killing her.” Arti lets out a sigh—one that’s guttural and brimming with frustration. “It could be that nothing will happen, or it could be that you’ll ruin everything. Are you willing to take that chance?” Efiya looks at me again, the knife digging a little deeper into my flesh. Her eyes shift out of focus for the briefest moment. Is she looking into the future again? Does she see me? She blinks and lowers the knife.
Arti narrows her eyes at Efiya, her voice just as bitter as when she’s scorned me in the past. “Stop this foolish game and focus on the task at hand.”
“You would stand against me for her?” Efiya asks, her face screwed up into a frown.
“You tell me, Efiya.” Arti squints, her look reproachful. “You can see inside my mind.”
Efiya pouts like a spoiled child and stomps back to her throne, Merka and Nezi on her heels. The pain disappears and I gasp. It’s not my imagination that Arti’s hand is shaking when she clasps my shoulder and tells me to go back to my room. There’s relief in her cold eyes, and she keeps her magic wrapped around me like a shield. My mother saved my life.
Thirty
Grandmother has been on my mind all night. I miss our times together at the Blood Moon Festival, when my only worry was failing at magic. How frivolous that seems now. I’ve done everything to delay my mother and sister until the edam could act. When that didn’t work, I tried to sway my sister, then tried to kill her three days ago. There’s nothing more I can do on my own. I need help. Grandmother wouldn’t abandon me, but I’m resigned to believe that either the edam can’t or won’t come. So I’ll go to them.
I plan to escape tonight. If Efiya can kill an orisha and raise a demon army, I’m not sure the edam will be able to stand against her. But I can’t think about the what-ifs now. There’s no other way. I need Grandmother’s ironclad strength. And if decades have passed outside Kefu and there’s a new generation of edam, I will appeal to them.
I lie in bed fully clothed in a tunic and trousers with a sack of provisions tucked under the sheet beside me. I keep still, my muscles wound tight. I’ve been waiting hours for Efiya to leave, and once she does, I wait a little longer to be sure. I can’t stop thinking about the Almighty One’s throne in the salon and what it means. Efiya has been to Tamar and not only that, she’s been in the Almighty Palace. I tell myself that my friends are okay. She has no reason to go after them, yet Arti’s voice rings in my head too. Her horrible decree from the night she summoned Shezmu at the Temple. The awful night that brought Efiya into existence.
You will lose many friends before the end.
A pang twists through me, and no amount of deep breaths calms my nerves.
My mouth parches as I think about my mother. She saved me from Efiya, though she gave no sign that it meant anything to her. Except that she’d squeezed my shoulder after, her hand ice cold and shaking. She’d offered vague comfort in that moment. Does she have a shred of regret for what she’s done? I don’t know, and I don’t have time to consider it. I can’t risk her finding out about my plan either.
I’m halfway out of bed when a splitting pain shoots across my forehead, and I collapse against the pillow. Whispers prick at my mind like sharp needles. Even though the air is as hot as a brazier in my room, chills snake down my back. I wrap my arms around my shoulders to ward off the cold and panic. The whispers are different from the demons in the walls, who do nothing but taunt me. This is something new. They buzz like a hive of angry bees who have lost their queen. I cover my ears and grit my teeth, but the sound vibrates in my scalp. Dread courses through my body. What horrible thing has my sister done now?
Soon the whispers fade to the back of my head. Now isn’t the time to wonder what this means—I have to leave before Efiya returns. Without allowing fear to settle in, I slip into my shoes and grab my provisions. My feet slap against the floor as I rush from my room and the darkness drinks the sound of my steps. That shouldn’t be possible, but I’m relieved as I descend the stairs to the first level. Familiars flicker in and out of the moonlight beaming in the open windows, but they don’t notice me.
I don’t want to leave my father at the mercy of Arti and my sister. He’s done the things my mother wanted, but after all this time, she doesn’t have the decency to let him go. He won’t come without her. A knot hardens in my belly at what I must do. There’s no other choice. I feel like the most awful daughter in the world for leaving without him. But if I can get to Grandmother, she and the other edam can free him. I have to believe that. The alternative is unbearable.
I slip into Terra’s room. Ty’s too; she moved in after the demon took Nezi. “Wake up.” My voice vibrates like a low hum.
Ty wakes first and lights a jar of oil beside her bed. The light makes the space too bright. The room is windowless, I realize, with no moonlight to be had. I shouldn’t have been able to see them to start.
“We have to leave,” I insist. “We have to go while Efiya is away.”
If we are to escape, it has to be now, while she’s gone and before Arti figures out what’s happening. Terra stares at me instead of moving. Ty crosses her arms.
“Go where?” Terra asks. “She’ll find us.”
“I know a place.” I don’t, but there’s no time to convince them to come.
Ty shakes her head. She’s still loyal to my mother, even after all that Arti’s done.
Terra knots her blanket in her hands. “You shouldn’t be here, Arrah.”
“I’m leaving,” I say, stubborn. “You can either take a chance at freedom or stay a slave to Efiya’s whims. How long do you think it’ll be before she gives your bodies to demons too?”
Ty presses her palm against her heart in a gesture of love, and slumps back on her pillow. Her eyes are glassy, like freedom is some childhood treat that she’s outgrown. She’s not coming. I blink back tears as I return her gesture. Biting her lip, Terra climbs from her bed and starts to dress. Ty grunts as if to say Terra’s a fool, but then, Terra has a family waiting for her. A father whose gambling debt she’s more than thrice paid off, and a mother caring for her siblings.
Terra and I say nothing as we sneak out of the villa and cross the darkness that surrounds it. It’s infinite and heavy against our skin like molasses. There’s a restlessness within it that claws at my mind. But this time the darkness doesn’t suffocate me. I don’t know how, but I see a clear path through it, a crossroads of sorts. I point out the faded white lines, but Terra doesn’t see them. The demons are one shapeless form, but their individual minds whisper to me. I clench my teeth, trying to ignore them.
She will find you.
She will consume you.
You’re as good as dead already.
You can’t run, little charlatan.
The voices speak of suffering, of desire, of intense hunger. The other voices—the ones from my room, the ones in my head—all spoke at once and I couldn’t understand their words. Terra touches my arm. I can’t see her in the unyielding darkness, but her worry pulses in her fingertips. None of this makes sense, that I can see these white lines. That I can see the shape of the demons’ souls and the impression of their wings. That they had wings was one of many details the orishas kept for themselves.
“Are you okay?” Terra asks.
I’m not okay, but one way or another I will leave Kefu tonight. Outside the gate, nighthawks lay siege to the desert, their screeching frantic. Whatever has the demons flustered, it’s done the same to the birds. My stomach sinks when my gaze lands on Arti’s back. She stands in our path, her sleeping gown flapping in the stiff breeze. Terra tenses at my side and shrinks behind me. I should’v
e known that my mother would try to stop us—nothing slips her notice.
I stand a little taller, take Terra’s hand, and trudge forward. I will no longer cower before my mother. Let her do her worst. If it comes to it, I’ll appeal to the side of her that saved my life.
“She’s ruining everything,” Arti says, her voice so meek that it surprises me. “All my careful planning for this . . . ?” My mother turns around, and I stop cold at the sight of her gaunt, tired face. Her red-rimmed eyes. She lets her words trail off like she expects me to console her.
I won’t allow myself to pity Arti. She knew the consequences—she was too obsessed with releasing the Demon King to care. “Heka warned you,” I say, shaking with rage, “but you didn’t listen either. Now you can’t control her.” As much as I want to rub it in her face, my satisfaction is bittersweet.
Arti lifts her chin; her lips draw tight. “I can fix this.”
“Can you?” I yell. “Can you bring back Kofi and the other children? Can you undo all the harm that you and Efiya have caused?”
A flutter of Arti’s magic brushes against my forearms as she narrows her eyes. “What are you doing here?” I’m bewildered that it took her this long to ask, but like me, she must sense that Efiya’s committed some new gods-awful crime.
I cross my arms. “There’s no place for me here.”
“You’re leaving?” Arti asks, her expression blank.
“I am,” I reply. Don’t try to stop me.
“Perhaps it’s for the best.” My mother turns her back to me again. “Efiya is unpredictable.”
I glare at her, half in shock that that’s all she has to say. I almost spit at her feet, but no, it’s not worth it. Let her suffer here with Efiya. It’s the fate she deserves.
With so much left unsaid, there is no true goodbye between my mother and me. Terra and I continue for Kefu as Arti’s last words and blank stare taunt me. Perhaps it is for the best.
We walk for what feels like too long, and Kefu is still a glimmer in the distance. The nighthawks begin to circle us, their cries louder with every step we take. Terra keeps cursing at them, but I don’t waste my energy. It’s the sting of demon magic that worries me. Wherever my sister has gone, she’s left some of her army behind to keep watch. I haven’t seen any demons in human form outside of Merka and Nezi since the rest marched into the desert. I hadn’t expected that some would be following us now—keeping to the shadows.