by Rena Barron
Rudjek’s bare back is to me, facing the fire. He shifts his position and—someone else is buried beneath him in the furs. Her sweet laughter drifts from the covers like birdsong. I move closer, so close that I stop on the opposite side of the fire and smell her cloying scent mingled with his lilac and woodsmoke. Flashes of her honey-brown skin and her ruffled black tunic burn into my eyes as his fingers traverse the peaks and valleys of her body. He cradles her in his arms, holding her like she means everything in the world to him. No, like she is his world.
My presence, or maybe the tickle of wind against Rudjek’s back, causes him to glance over his shoulder. When our eyes meet, his go wide and he climbs out of the tangle of furs clumsily. He jerks his head back and forth between the girl still lying in the furs and me, an expression of shock on his face. When she sits up, I stumble back.
I can’t breathe. I can’t fathom what I’m seeing—who I’m seeing. I clasp my arm around my waist.
Efiya smiles.
“Arrah?” Rudjek gapes at Efiya, then at me.
He acts like he cannot tell us apart. Efiya and I look like sisters, yes, but she’s taller, more feline, more beautiful. Even in the night we could not pass for each other. Even if she did not have green eyes when mine are the color of sunset. Are we that interchangeable in his mind? “I don’t understand . . .”
“You don’t understand?” I say, magic raging inside me. “You attempt to bed my sister and now you seek understanding?”
His mouth drops, his face almost as diaphanous as his mother’s. He draws farther away from Efiya. “Your sister?”
“Aren’t you glad,” Efiya says, lying back again, gazing up at the stars, her voice slick with seduction, “I protected your virtue from this pathetic creature?”
Rudjek shakes his head. His whole body shakes. Did he really think that she was me? But Efiya can kill gods—changing her appearance has always been child’s play. I don’t ask why she’s done this. She wants to punish me, to make me suffer, to destroy what little joy I have left in this world. I thought that she would torture Rudjek to get back at me, but it never crossed my mind that she would do something like this. That she would use him to torture me.
“Arrah . . . I . . . I didn’t know,” Rudjek stutters. “I thought . . .”
Efiya stands. “No need to thank me.”
I cannot tell if she’s talking to him or me. Rudjek lunges at her, but Efiya’s magic latches on to me and we disappear into a storm of wind and rain.
The world washes away—the valley, Rudjek, the tent, the campfire, all gone. Thunder cracks in my ears and lightning strikes so close that it singes the hairs on my arms. Rain beats against my body in a constant assault and clouds wrap around our feet. We stand on top of a mountain peak, and the cold chills me to the bone.
“You disappoint me, sister.” Efiya’s voice is howling wind. “I thought you wiser than to run away to be with a boy, but I see that you’re no different from the others. You are all such emotional creatures. Although, I do admit he was very delicious—the taste of his skin is inspiring and the things he can do with his—”
“Shut up!” I roar like a cornered animal ready to leap. The whispers are quiet, but their magic pools in my fingertips, lurking in my veins. They’ve waited for their moment of revenge. I want to give it to them. I want revenge too. “You are nothing, Efiya. You’re less than nothing.”
She tilts her head to the side, considering me, her smile turning into a scowl.
“The only reason you’re alive is to free our mother’s master,” I say. “Do you know how pathetic that is?”
She blinks against the rain. Her hair is slick and falls in tangles. I see a bit of the little girl she’d been only months ago, her eyes shining with the curiosity and wonderment of a child. The little girl who tried to take away my pain one moment and crippled me with her magic the next.
“The chieftains’ magic has made you bold.” She brushes off my insults.
I say nothing, and the wind pushes us a step closer.
She laughs, glancing me over. “I should’ve known they would bind themselves to you—use you to hide from me, because I can’t see your mind. That was very clever of them, but it won’t work. I will have what belongs to me.”
A pang tears through my belly as Grandmother’s face flashes in my head. Her white braids had cascaded down her shoulders as we sat cross-legged in her tent. She’d seen Efiya for what she was even then—a green-eyed serpent, a demon. Still she couldn’t do anything to stop her. None of us could. My sister is too strong.
The magic roaring inside me now is my grandmother’s last act of defiance. For she and the other chieftains knew my sister would come for them. Grandmother foresaw it in a vision. I don’t have to ask to know what happened to the kas of the rest of the witchdoctors. Efiya must have eaten them to grow more powerful.
“You’re nothing but a disease,” I say as I call down the wind.
I barrel into Efiya and we fall and fall and fall. The ground races up to meet us. We are a mess of tangled arms and legs, both kicking and screaming. As Efiya tries to enter the void—the space between time—I grab her wrist, my touch like a pit of writhing vipers that sink fangs into her. She yelps, flustered for the first time ever, but I can’t hold her. She wrenches out of my grasp and disappears.
When I hit the ground, my world shatters into a thousand pieces.
Thirty-Six
I climb from the cracked ground beneath my feet. I cannot undo what’s done. I cannot look at Rudjek as I stalk over to the tent and change into dry clothes. Even though I sit close to the fire, a deep chill takes hold of me and won’t let go. He goes to the stream to wash twice, but Efiya’s saccharine scent lingers on him like a dog’s marked territory. The rest of the night is long and insufferable, and I lose track of time waiting for daybreak.
“Arrah, I’m sorry,” he says for the hundredth time. “I didn’t know.”
“You’ve said that already,” I groan, staring into the fire.
“Will you at least talk to me?” His deep timbre cracks on every other word.
“Can you give me some space?” I huff, exasperated. “I have a lot to think about.”
And it’s true. I need to forget about what happened between Efiya and him and focus on the fact that I hurt my sister tonight. The moment before she entered the void, my gifted magic tore through her and she fled from it. I tried to kill my sister the same way I burned Merka, but the magic’s effect on her paled in comparison to what it did to him. He was only a demon. Efiya is both demon and Heka—much stronger. But tonight gives me hope. If I’m able to hurt her with just the chieftains’ magic, then when I have the Demon King’s dagger, I can end her.
As much as I try to keep my mind on the task at hand, my heart burns with jealousy.
I picture Efiya wrapped in Rudjek’s arms.
My sister has everything: magic, my mother’s love, and now Rudjek. I’ve longed for magic my whole life, prayed to Heka for it. She was born overflowing with it while I traded my years for scraps. I tried to earn my mother’s love—while Efiya does nothing but rebel and our mother still hasn’t given up on her. Now that I know Arti’s history, I realize that nothing I could’ve ever done would have changed her. She loves me in her own tortured way. But even under normal circumstances, that love wouldn’t have been enough for me.
And Rudjek. Twenty-gods.
He paces back and forth. I hate the way he’s looking at me, his face riddled with regret and pain. It’s so easy to place the blame on Efiya, but he should’ve known she wasn’t me. How much time have we spent together? The lazy afternoons prattling on about whatever silly thing crossed our minds. Something about Efiya—however small—should’ve made him realize. How could he be such a fool?
My ears perk up when the air shifts and blades of grass rustle in the field. Rudjek stops pacing and reaches for his shotels. Soft footfalls grow closer—the sound so subtle that I almost miss it. I come to my feet with the staff
in my hand. Magic tingles beneath my skin. I’m ready too.
Rudjek stomps out the fire and we crouch in the high grass. There’s movement in the forest to the east. My heart leaps against my ribs. We’ve seen no signs of my sister’s army, but they will come soon. There’s magic wafting on the wind.
“I don’t see how no one in that dank town had a few horses to spare,” says a voice that’s high-pitched and bratty. It’s Majka and I don’t think I’ve ever been gladder to hear him whining about something as I am now. I sigh, tension easing from my chest.
Essnai steps into the clearing, the moonlight reflecting against a yellow swipe of paint from her forehead to the bridge of her nose. Sukar is on her heels, his tattoos shimmering with the faintest light. Kira trails behind him. I don’t know how they’ve come to be here, but I’m thankful to see our friends.
“We shouldn’t have run down our mares in the first place,” Kira grumbles.
“They offered donkeys.” Sukar shrugs. “You turned them down, Majka.”
“Did you see those donkeys?” Majka waves his arm. “They looked half-dead already.”
“You four are as noisy as a pack of hyenas,” I say, straightening myself up.
Kira clutches two daggers, poised to strike before her sharp eyes land on us, then relaxes.
Essnai clucks her tongue. “Still always wandering off, I see.”
“Twenty-gods.” Majka grins upon seeing Rudjek. “It’s true, you’re alive.”
Rudjek rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve seen better days.”
“So I’ve heard.” Majka clasps his friend’s shoulder. “By the way, your aunt dismissed us from the gendars because of your stunt. I’m itching to kick your butt for it.”
Rudjek winks at his friend. “Get in line.”
Sukar greets me with a hand to his brow and a slight bow. I return the gesture. “Did you think you could sneak out without us?” he asks. “You know I can never turn down the chance for a good fight.”
I shrug. “I didn’t want to drag you into this.”
Essnai frowns, searching me up and down. “We saw the carnage at the Temple.”
“We were worried about you,” Sukar adds, scornful.
The three of us press our foreheads together, our arms draped across each other’s shoulders once more. I let myself forget about Kefu and Efiya and my mother for the briefest moment. My friends are glad I’m okay, but their fear is palpable too. They know what will happen soon. That our time together will not last. I’m going to miss them.
“I can’t believe the so-called great orisha Re’Mec is Tam.” Majka grimaces. “I fought him in the arena many times, you know. He’s awful with shotels and not that much better with knives, either.”
Rudjek glances everywhere to keep from meeting anyone’s eye. He squeezes the handles of his shotels so hard that the blood drains from his knuckles. “He wanted us to think that.”
Kira roams over to the crater in the ground where I landed after falling from the sky. She fingers a blade with an intricate carved handle made of bone. They’re different from her usual daggers. “Well, this is interesting.”
“I see you have new daggers,” I interject so I don’t have to explain the hole.
“Tam—um, Re’Mec—gave us some new toys to stand against the demons.” Sukar holds up a shiny new pair of sickles; the blades catch the moonlight. Even in the dark, the script carved into the weapons glows. “He’s still a lying weasel, though.”
Is that how Rudjek killed all those demons at the Almighty Temple? Did Re’Mec enhance his shotels with magic too? I burn to ask, but rage and hurt still my tongue.
Dozens of shadows suddenly flit in and out of the moonlight, and Rudjek reaches for his shotels. Kira sends a knife sailing into the dark. It goes through a shadow that disappears along with the blade. Kira gasps and I turn to see her staring down at the knife, which has returned to the sheath at her hip. She looks at me, wide-eyed. “Hello, orisha magic.”
There’s no time for a witty retort as a small army marches on our position; no mistaking who they are. Their magic charges the night air, and they move like still wind in plain black uniforms.
“Shotani,” I whisper. If my sister controls the new Almighty One, then she has the Kingdom’s armies at her disposal too. Who better to send after us than the elite Temple-trained soldiers? They could kill a man in a crowd without anyone noticing.
“Form a circle,” Rudjek barks, slipping into the role of leader without pause. A natural fit for a boy groomed to be the next Vizier of the Kingdom. And if I’m being honest, it suits him well. “The shotani’s greatest strength is stealth. They’re good at killing in close quarters, but not in the open like this.”
Rudjek speaks like he’s fought them before. Not for the first time I wonder what he’s gone through since setting off for the Aloo Valley, and notice the change in him. I grip my staff as we follow his orders. He stands to my left and Sukar to my right.
“The weapons Re’Mec gave you will negate the shotani’s magic,” he tells us. “They’ll try to break the circle. Don’t let them.”
“Are you sure about the weapons?” I ask. “Arti and Efiya would’ve anticipated that.”
Rudjek has that twinkle in his eyes again. My chest throbs with longing and a familiar warmth spreads through me. His look reminds me of the almost kiss in the garden when his scent toyed with my senses. Even with so much uncertainty between us and the looming battle, I can’t deny the part of me that still aches for him. “You’re talking to me again,” he observes, his voice low and raspy. “That’s good at least.”
His eyes linger long enough to make me glance away.
“Pine for each other later,” Majka moans. “We’re busy at the moment.”
The shotani slink into the valley as silent as Familiars. There are at least fifty of the elite assassins, and six of us.
“Twenty-gods. I take that back.” Majka rolls his eyes. “Do all the pining you want since we’re screwed anyway.”
Sukar rotates his wrists, his blades ready. “I’m not going down without a fight.”
Half of the shotani charge at once while the others stand back. They dart through the field like gazelles. Kira launches her daggers, and when the shotani drop, the blades reappear at her waist in a shimmer of gold light.
Despite our efforts, they manage to separate us with ease. Essnai and Sukar fight back to back—taking on five shotani who move like slippery snakes. Majka and Rudjek are back to back too, and most of the shotani have come for them. They dance around us like wisps of wind, landing cuts and blows.
Rudjek breaks away from Majka to run down any shotani who come after me, but he can’t stop them all. I bat them back with my staff, landing blows in the soft spots that my father taught me. While I push them back, Essnai takes out eyes and teeth and breaks bones. Her staff is a flash of brilliance that moves in time with her body. Kira runs back and forth through the field, dipping in and out of shadows. Her blades soar through the air, sometimes connecting, sometimes not.
Rudjek plunges his blade into a shotani’s belly and slashes another across her chest. He ducks, but not fast enough. A third shotani’s blade bites into his shoulder. My pulse throbs in my ears as the shotani rips the sword from Rudjek’s shoulder and he yelps in pain.
So much pain.
So much blood.
So much death.
A tang of iron coats my tongue as I block another shotani’s blade with my staff. My arms tremble against his brute strength. Magic flares beneath my skin, but I don’t need it. I duck right and sweep the staff in an arc to cut the shotani’s legs from beneath him. When he hits the ground, I slam the staff into his temple. None of the shotani have tried to kill me. Efiya must want to do the deed herself, so she can take the kas of the chieftains.
While Rudjek holds off two shotani, a third one sneaks up behind him. He pivots right and ducks. Not fast enough. The third shotani rams a sword through Rudjek’s shoulder. The blade shimmers with
magic that crawls up his neck and down his back before dissipating into thin air. Rudjek shrieks at the pain and his right shotel crashes to the ground. Like at the Almighty Temple, the magic rebounds off him, even without his craven-bone pendant. Before I can wonder how he’s repelling magic, he spins his remaining shotel across his body and cuts the shotani down. With his attention split, the other two shotani seize their opportunity to strike.
I dart across the space between us and ram my staff into the shotani’s belly, and he goes hurtling backward. No, he flies. The magic did that. I crouch and spin, cracking the second one across the knees. His bones shatter and his screams cut through me. Once he’s on the ground, I deal the killing blow.
“Thank you.” Rudjek winces, reaching for his sword.
His shoulder knits itself back together and I stop, my mouth agape. There’s blood and dirt and smooth skin where the wound had been only moments ago.
The clang of metal against metal echoes in my ears.
Rudjek shrugs. “There might be more to my Dark Forest story.”
“There always is with you,” I say, shaking my head.
He winks at me.
White light flashes among the shotani holding the line and they scatter. They clash swords with newcomers who move as well if not better than the elite assassins. The newcomers cut down the shotani like they’re untrained recruits in the City Guard. I slam my staff into more heads, bellies, and vital organs. My shoulders ache and sweat streaks down my forehead. I’m exhausted. We all are.
When the white-robed saviors cut through the wall of shotani, they race across the field to help us. There are only five of them—I’m astounded that they’ve killed so many so fast.
Yet every time we kill a shotani, more join the fight. Majka favors his right side, and blood runs down Sukar’s face. I fight harder, wilder, not caring how I cut down the next shotani, only that each one falls. Fire tears through me and awakens the voices.
They whisper of thunder and lightning.
They whisper of firestorms.