Kingdom of Souls

by Rena Barron

  “They’re in a weakened state right now.” Tam sheaths his shotel. “Ask again once one has consumed a hundred or a thousand souls.”

  “Why are you here, Tam?” Essnai demands, her tongue sharp.

  “Same as you.” He grins. “I stumbled upon this little grub fest and meant to stop it.”

  I storm out of the alley, unable to stomach Tam any longer. Rudjek was his friend, but he doesn’t even care that he sent him to the Aloo Valley to die. He’s too damn selfish and happy playing hero on the city streets, basking in his moment of glory.

  “What happened to her?” I hear him ask Sukar before I’m out of earshot. “A bit rough around the edges now, eh?”

  Essnai catches up with me. “I would’ve broken his legs.”

  “I should’ve done worse,” I say, still seething.

  Sukar slips up beside me as we pass the first Ka-Priest’s tomb. A stump with jagged splinters is all that’s left of the sacred Gaer tree where I first saw an inkling of the future. Where I saw Efiya’s serpent eyes. Where I made my first kills.

  The path to the Temple is overgrown with weeds and littered with offerings to the orishas. Withered flowers and fruit picked clean by birds, clay dolls carved in the orishas’ likeness. Re’Mec with his ram horns, Koré with her writhing hair, Kiva with his lopsided eyes. Two-headed Fram. How could they do nothing? They’ve failed Tamar and the Kingdom much the same as Heka failed the tribal people. What’s the point of gods if they turn their backs when we need them the most? But I’m not being fair: they haven’t all turned their backs. Koré helped me break Arti’s curse, and she sacrificed herself to save me—a charlatan.

  Halfway up to the Temple, I stop to catch my breath, my gut twisting. We’ve climbed high enough that we have a view of the entire city. Tamar lies in waste. Whole neighborhoods flattened to rubble. Others scarred by fire. Essnai and Sukar tell me that the new Almighty One purged any citizens loyal to the Temple. Had I seen this in a vision, I would’ve dismissed it as a dream.

  Still staring at the city, I say, “I need to tell you something.” Again I can’t meet my friends’ eyes as I speak. They rustle at my side, both waiting for me to work up my courage. “When the witchdoctors died, the chieftains bound their kas to mine . . . they are with me now.”

  “Twenty-gods, Arrah,” gasps Essnai. “That explains your magic.”

  “Well, twenty-one-gods, if you count Efiya,” Sukar muses.

  “Not the time, Sukar,” Essnai warns.

  Despite myself, I crack the tiniest smile. I’ve missed them so much. There were times in Kefu when I didn’t know if I would ever see my friends again.

  We arrive at the Almighty Temple—where it all started. Where Arti performed her egregious act of desecration. There’s no one here now, not a soul in sight. No shotani lurking in the shadows. “The Vizier had guards up here until the Almighty One relieved him of his position,” Sukar says.

  I grit my teeth upon hearing his title and feel a little satisfaction in knowing that he’s fallen too. “There’s something here.” A flutter of magic that’s so faint I almost miss it hums in the air.

  “We’ve been up here a dozen times.” Sukar shakes his head. “There’s not much left. The seers destroyed their records before Tyrek had them arrested.”

  The Temple looks much the same as before it burned. A half-moon ingress connects the five buildings again. The orishas have returned to their shadowy home beneath a new Hall of Orishas. But the parts still under construction stand out in sharp contrast against the old stone.

  The last time I saw Rudjek, we were here. I’d stood by while he fought off gendars—I’d stood by and done nothing while the Vizier banished my family. Yes, Arti deserved it. She deserved worse. But the Vizier banished me out of spite. He did it to keep Rudjek and me apart.

  “Call to him.” Sukar snaps me out of my daze.

  “What?”

  “You have the kas of the five chieftains inside you.” Sukar points at my chest. “They each possessed great power—with that, you should be able to see across time and space to find Rudjek.” His voice drops. “Or at the very least you’ll see what happened to him.”

  “After she’s rested.” Essnai takes hold of my arm and leads me across the courtyard. Sukar trails behind and I don’t argue because I’m bone-tired. At first I mistake Essnai to mean that I need to sit down, but she walks me to Sukar’s room in the attendants’ barracks.

  “Sleep,” Essnai issues a gentle command before she and Sukar leave me alone.

  I lean against the door and blow out a shaky breath. There are Zu masks of people and animals, and some in combinations of the two, painted in bold colors on the walls. His room is simple with a bed, desk, basin, and dresser. It smells of ink and sweet perfume.

  Where are you, Rudjek? I need you. I miss you.

  Sensing my want, the magic rises to the surface. I could calm it, but I don’t. I don’t want to sleep. I want my best friend back, and now I have magic to answer my call and do my bidding. I command it to take me to Rudjek, and as sparks of magic light on me, the sound of water sloshing around the bow of a boat fills my ears. Suns and moons travel in a reverse course in my mind, and my ka leaves my body like it’s a discarded husk. This time I don’t feel pain at the separation. I’m moving so fast that I can’t make sense of the blur of images flashing before my eyes. But a force pushes against me, shoving me back, trying to keep me from reaching my destination.

  I won’t let it stop me. I push harder. I break through an invisible barrier and my ka lands in a clearing in the heart of the Dark Forest. Rudjek stands face-to-face with a thing of nightmares. The creature has tree-bark skin, a horned nose, and claws. Long, curved, razor-sharp claws. Claws soaked in blood. No, no, no. My mind reels and I stretch myself to descend closer, but the craven’s anti-magic keeps me at bay—anti-magic, and the fabric of time. This moment is in the past.

  Rudjek’s shotels slip from his hands in a silent thud as he drops to his knees.

  I scream in my ka and the trees in the forest tremble, and I scream in the room and Sukar’s masks crack in two. Rudjek, oh gods, no.

  I blink, and he’s lying in a pool of blood. The craven crouches over him, its black eyes examining Rudjek like he’s some curious thing. It dangles his family crest on one of its claws.

  “Here lies Rudjek Omari.” He coughs up blood. “The one to put an end to the Omari legacy.”

  My foolish, foolish Rudjek. Only he would make jokes on the edge of death.

  He falls still.

  I lash out at the craven, but even with all this power, I can’t reach the past. A veil separates me from it. I push my ka so hard that my tether starts to tear from my body and pierce the veil—pierce time itself. I don’t care what will happen if it breaks. I’ll lose myself in the spirit world forever, or I’ll die, but not before I rip out the craven’s throat.

  I’m almost free when a dozen cravens step into the clearing. They peer up to where I’m floating above the tree line, and their anti-magic sends me back to the present. I land inside my body so hard that my back slams against the door. Chest burning, I lie on the cold floor, weeping for my friend.

  Part IV

  For her story begins at the end,

  Full of pain and sweet revenge.

  For she shall not rest in this life,

  For she must suffer for her sins.

  —Song of the Unnamed

  Re’mec, Orisha of Sun, Twin King

  I want to tell you a story about a Tamaran man who walked into a forest and died.

  No, this story isn’t about you. Yes, you’re dying and yes, you’re in the Dark Forest, but this is about another man. Are you always this insufferable, Rudjek?

  Where was I? Yes. The man lived in a time when a single king thought himself the lord of all the lands. He sent his army into places that did not belong to him and took things that were not meant for him. When he finished warring with the people of the North, he turned to the tribes. But the trib
es were clever. They offered him magic and he took them into his council.

  The king had riches beyond his wildest dreams, but he still wanted more. He heard of the fertile lands beyond the southernmost valley bordering his kingdom. The witchdoctors warned him that an orisha protected that land. The fool did not listen, of course. Fools never do.

  Who am I? I’m Re’Mec. The cravens are my wards.

  You noticed! Yes, I’m Tam too. It’s short for Tamar, which is another of my names.

  The cravens gave you that nasty wound, but they had good reason. You’ll see.

  On with the story.

  The king commanded his cousin, Oshin Omari, to take the land by force. Oshin and his army arrived in the valley at sunset. His men retired for the night to rest before battle. Half kept watch while the others slept. When the second shift woke to relieve their comrades, they found their heads on stakes. No one had heard a thing. Not even a whisper.

  Oshin, having had too much to drink and too little sleep, decided to charge into the forest on his own. By now you already know he’s a fool, so that shouldn’t come as a surprise.

  Yes, I know he’s your ancestor. Why do you think I’m telling you this story? I know who you are, Rudjek Omari. Better than you know yourself.

  Here’s the version of the story that you’ve accepted as true. Though if you take half a mind to think about it, you’d know it couldn’t be.

  Oshin Omari marched into the Dark Forest alone to find the cravens unawares. Like the honorable warrior he claimed to be, he made his presence known. The cravens wanted to tear away his flesh with their teeth and claws, but their elder was so impressed by his courage that she challenged him to a fight to the death.

  As the story goes, Oshin Omari bested the elder with his shotels.

  Seeing that a mere human had beaten the strongest of them, the cravens conceded to his prowess. They vowed never to attack the Kingdom so long as the army stayed away from the Dark Forest. Oshin agreed to these terms.

  This next part is debatable. Some claim he made it up to win his cousin’s favor.

  When Oshin left the forest, he took the elder’s body as a souvenir. He used her bones to make trinkets that his family passed down from generation to generation. The bones protect their wearers from the influence of magic.

  Most of that story isn’t true. Except the part about the bones.

  Cravens are anti-magic. I made them that way.

  Do you want the truth, Rudjek? Not the story?

  I promise you the truth is much more interesting than the lie.

  Thirty-Three

  Between sobs, I tell Essnai and Sukar what I saw in the vision of Rudjek. The room trembles, more masks falling and cracking as the magic responds to my anguish. Essnai forces me to drink red bush tea spiced with snakeweed to calm me. It’s effective, but my father would have steeped a matay leaf in the tea so sleep would come faster. Thinking of him makes me that much more miserable. My mind drifts in and out of sleep the whole day and half the night. I dream of Rudjek stretched out on a blanket by the Serpent River. Him palming his shotels with a foolish grin. Me in a panic, searching for him in the East Market. Him lying still in a clearing in a forest of forever night, a pool of blood spreading from his wounds.

  “Let me go,” Rudjek’s deep timbre echoes in my dream.

  “Arrah,” another voice purrs, one that is warm air on a perfect day and wraps around me.

  The chieftains’ memories tangle in my head, too. They tell me their stories.

  The Litho chieftain, a man of many vices and an affinity for taking lives.

  The Mulani chieftain, Arti’s cousin, who served her people faithfully.

  The Zu chieftain, the greatest scrivener of his people, lover of men and wine.

  The Kes chieftain, a man who lived most of his life traveling the spirit world.

  The Aatiri chieftain—Grandmother—who loved deeply and led with an iron fist.

  They’re a part of me. Their memories, their hopes and dreams. Their secrets, truths, and lies twist in my head until they ring in my ears as loud as morning bells. I bolt upright in bed, their voices teeming on the edge of my mind. I’m drowsy from the tea, but it hasn’t dulled the pain—nothing will do that. Rudjek is gone, and there’s a hole in my heart that throbs like a toothache. Some part of me would be content to stay in this room while the rest of the world burns, but no, I can’t do that. I couldn’t live with myself. With the chieftains’ magic, I have a chance to do something useful for once. There has to be a reason that Koré sent me to the Temple. It must have something to do with the low hum of magic in the courtyard.

  I climb out of Sukar’s bed and go to the basin to splash water on my face, but it’s empty. I avoid the mirror—afraid of what I’ll see. Sukar and Essnai have lit the torches down the hallway outside the room. I pad down the long ingress, and peek into the communal barracks. Favorite attendants like Sukar got their own rooms, but most of them shared quarters. My friends aren’t there. I try to reach out with my mind, but I’m too tired and the magic fizzles.

  Sukar pokes his head from the kitchen down the hallway. “I thought that was you.”

  He leans against the doorway. His tattoos have rearranged themselves back into their original position. Raised tiger claws settle on his cheeks and bars stretch across his forehead again. “It was getting late, so we didn’t want to wake you.” He pushes away from the wall. “You okay?”

  I shrug because it’s better than a lie. I catch the scent of something burning in the kitchen. “What is that awful smell?”

  “Whole bird stew,” calls Essnai. “My mother’s special recipe.”

  Sukar pitches his voice low, “It tastes worse than it smells.”

  “I heard that,” shouts Essnai.

  “It’s time, Arrah,” Grandmother whispers in my mind. “Go.”

  I don’t question her. My legs move before I can process what I’m doing.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Sukar runs to catch up with me. “It isn’t that bad.”

  I don’t stop until I’m standing in the middle of the courtyard and the night breeze cuts through me. Save for the moonlight, shifting shadows shroud most of the courtyard. “Someone is coming.”

  Essnai catches up too, and they both look toward the gate. A ripple of magic sparks from my skin, reaching out, searching. It latches on to something. Sukar startles at my side and pulls out his sickles in one breath. His tattoos burn so bright that I cover my eyes. I groan as a gust of wind hits me so hard that I almost lose my footing. We all do. I don’t have time to wonder what’s happened as the light from Sukar’s tattoos fades and the magic settles inside me.

  Someone lies curled on the ground not ten paces from us, in a tattered, bloodstained elara. Not someone. I half run, half stumble. The whispers reach a fever pitch and drown out my screams. I collapse at Rudjek’s side. Tears blur my vision and choke in my throat. There’s so much blood. Too much blood, and dirt like he’s been dug up from a grave. My magic reaches out to feel for his ka, but it rebounds and dissipates in the air. I push thoughts of healing toward him, but that magic flickers away too. The Litho chieftain within me has an intimate knowledge of death and he’s brought many back from the brink. But no matter how hard I push, the magic bounces off Rudjek’s broken body.

  Gods, no. How could he come to be here after the gruesome scene in the Dark Forest, and be too far gone to save? There has to be a way. It can’t be too late.

  “Arrah.” Essnai squats beside me. “He’s ascended.”

  “No, no, no,” I whisper. “He’s going to be all right.”

  Both Sukar and Essnai pull me away, and I don’t have the strength to fight them. He’s dead and the cursed cravens sent his corpse to taunt me. There can be no other answer.

  Silence stretches the moment out, dragging my anguish with it, but then he moves.

  “Twenty-gods.” Rudjek coughs. “Am I dreaming again?”

  Something inside me collapses, and I reach for
him.

  “Am I?” I ask through tears. “Are you real?”

  Rudjek rolls on his side, his obsidian eyes tired and bewitched. “You’re a hard girl to find.”

  The words vibrate in his chest—a chest cut from stone and warmer than a thousand suns. Bits of his smooth brown skin show through his shredded elara. I run my fingers across his tattered clothes to make sure he’s not an apparition—to make sure he’s real. My skin tingles with the first inkling of heat. The way it always does when we touch. There’s no wound on his belly, unlike in my vision when the craven almost cut him in two. So much blood, and no sign of where it came from. I don’t care. He’s alive and he’s here with me. Sukar clears his throat from behind us, and I jerk my hands away.

  “How did you get here?” I ask as he sits up. “How did you know to come?”

  “Re’Mec sent me back,” Rudjek answers as Sukar and I help him to his feet.

  Sukar crosses his arms. “How did you get mixed up with an orisha?”

  “Long story,” Rudjek says, taking in the empty Temple grounds.

  He kept his promise. He looked for me.

  I search him thrice over for injuries, while he stares down at me like I’m some spirit conjured from thin air. His gaze is of longing and pain and regret. Except for the fact that he smells atrocious, he’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s alive.

  “I saw you . . . die in the Dark Forest.” The scene of Rudjek lying in the clearing replays in my mind.

  “I did die in the Dark Forest.”

  “Another long story?” Essnai sighs.

  He inhales a ragged breath. “Even longer.”

  As Rudjek searches my face a wave of heat burns up my neck. I have no doubt that like Tam, he sees what the rituals took from me. His eyes beg for an answer to a question he doesn’t ask. “Re’Mec told me everything.” He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. The silence between us is deafening.

  “Good—we’ve all finally arrived,” comes a voice like crumpled scrolls.

  We turn and Sukar stutters, “Uncle?”