Kingdom of Souls

by Rena Barron

They whisper of murder.

  I clench my teeth to hold back my rage. My pores are on fire and it feels like the entirety of me—my very being—wants to burst into flames. I can stop a few shotani with my staff, but with my magic I can stop them all. In the end, I’m tired and give in to the urge to unleash my fury. The hairs stand up on my forearms as the first bolt of lightning strikes a shotani and sets him on fire. Another bolt slices across the sky and strikes again. I don’t stop calling the firestorm until the rest of the shotani are dead.

  Re’mec, Orisha of Sun, Twin King

  Are you ready to hear the true story of Oshin Omari and the cravens?

  You’re looking quite well, by the way. The wound is healing as expected.

  When Oshin walked into the Dark Forest, the cravens were waiting for him. The elder was kind. She made his death quick and painless. Then she commanded her only son to shift into Oshin’s form so that he could return to Tamar to influence the king. Her son took the body of a craven who had died of old age to prove Oshin’s victory. He did indeed use the bones to make trinkets that protected against magic, though he himself didn’t need it. For the cravens are anti-magic and immune to its influences.

  I see you’re taking this quite hard.

  Let me make this clear to you. You are part craven, Rudjek.

  I bestowed many gifts upon the cravens. You will discover them if you live long enough.

  Why? Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter.

  A war is coming, Rudjek. It will take all our efforts to stop it from destroying this world. We cannot do it alone. You must convince the humans and cravens to ally.

  We are much weakened after our war with Daho. You know him as the Demon King.

  He is a clever bastard, I must admit.

  While trapped in our chains for thousands of years, he’s found a way to strike. He used your Ka-Priestess to do it. She’s quite clever too. Had I intervened when the former Ka-Priest violated her mind, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. Alas, I cannot change the past.

  He wasn’t always so awful. Daho, I mean.

  My sister found him abandoned by his people and dying beside a frozen lake.

  They were both children then, and we paid no mind when she healed him.

  When he became a man, she started to understand death, not a concept that is easy for an immortal to grasp. Fram, the orisha of life and death, understands it the best of our kind. It’s their nature.

  Our sister didn’t want to lose Daho, so she taught him how to consume kas to extend his life. The first ka he consumed was the man who had killed his father and taken his throne. Quite an unfortunate mistake.

  They didn’t know that consuming someone’s ka would change a person’s nature. Daho had consumed the ka of a very ambitious demon who would stop at nothing to gain power. Thus began his insatiable thirst for souls.

  We spent too much time debating what to do about Daho. Another mistake. He became immortal and raised an army of immortals comparable to the orishas. They destroyed whole peoples in their lust for souls.

  We decided to strike at his heart, our sister.

  It was not an easy decision, but we knew losing her would weaken him.

  Fram killed her. At least we thought she was dead.

  Fram has a soft heart. We should have known better than to trust them.

  I won’t bore you any longer with our family problems.

  But know this, Rudjek, your stake in this is as personal as ours.

  Thirty-Seven

  The shotani lie dead at our feet. I killed them. I struck them down with lightning that set their bodies on fire. I’m shaking and Rudjek grabs my shoulders to steady me, but he’s shaking too. Blood stains his tunic where the shotani’s double blade dug into his flesh. There’s so much blood, and his face is ashen and tired.

  Magic has a price.

  Even if the cost is no longer my years, it’s a part of my soul. I killed those people, just as I killed Merka. Like I did to the men by the sacred Gaer tree. Yes, they tried to kill me first, but that doesn’t absolve my conscience of the deed. How many more will I kill before I meet my end?

  “We’re okay.” Rudjek rubs his hands up and down my arms and not even his warmth can stop me from trembling. “Thanks to you.”

  Thanks to me—the charlatan-turned-witchdoctor, willing magic that’s not my own.

  I want to sink into his arms and bury my face against his chest, but I want to shove him away too. I’d do anything so I don’t have to remember him tangled in the furs with my sister. Rudjek reads my mood and his hands drop to his side. He’s suffering too.

  I turn my back to him to see the newcomers keeping their distance but watching us like hawks. No, they’re watching me. None of them have spoken a word since arriving. More shocking is that none of them have so much as a drop of blood on their white robes.

  “They’re from the Dark Forest.” Rudjek gestures to them. “They’re here to help.”

  All the stories said that cravens had tree-bark skin, claws, and a horned nose. These are . . . people. They stare at us with as much curiosity as we do at them. They’re not what I saw in my vision of Rudjek’s death. But now that my nerves have started to calm, I can sense their anti-magic. Like in my vision, it’s an invisible shield between them and me, and my magic feels as though it’s fallen asleep. “Cravens?” I quirk an eyebrow.

  Rudjek smiles sheepishly. “They’ve shifted their appearance so they don’t scare you.”

  “Who’s scared?” Majka glances to Sukar. “Are you?”

  Sukar wipes blood from a shrinking wound on his cheek. “I’m bored again.”

  Rudjek grins at the cravens and they beam back at him. “Am I glad to see you.”

  They look about our age, no more than seventeen or eighteen. Three boys and two girls.

  Seeing that we’re still speechless, Rudjek coughs. “They’re my . . . um . . . guardians.”

  “This keeps getting better.” Majka puts his hands on his hips. “You’re future Vizier of the Kingdom, now you have craven guardians. Next you’re going to tell us that you’re an orisha too.”

  “Why do you need guardians?” I ask.

  “I’ll explain later,” Rudjek says, too eager to change the subject.

  He introduces the cravens, and it’s easier to focus on them so I don’t have to think about tonight. They’ve mastered their approximations of the human form, with subtle differences. Fadyi, their leader, is the best shifted of the five. He has wide-set eyes, a broad nose, and fine lines that give texture to his chiseled jaw. His hair is short on the sides, leaving a shock of black curls down the middle. Jahla’s form is nearly as detailed as Fadyi’s. She’s added a splash of freckles across her nose. Räeke is the shortest of them with hazel eyes a little too large for her face. Ezaric and Tzaric are twins with long locs and impossibly smooth skin.

  “We would’ve come sooner had Efiya’s army not breached the forest,” Fadyi speaks in accented Tamaran.

  Rudjek tenses. “Is everyone okay?”

  “We pushed them back”—the craven’s eyes rage with pain—“but we had many casualties.”

  I cringe. My sister will see the cravens’ anti-magic as a threat. The orishas, the tribes, and now the cravens. She’s eliminating anyone who could stand against her.

  “We tracked her scent here.” Jahla steps closer to Rudjek, a lock of silver hair falling from underneath her hood. She sniffs the air and a streak of heat burns up my neck. She grimaces as she eyes me. “Well, this is an unfortunate turn of events.”

  Rudjek blanches and glances to the ground. She must smell Efiya on him.

  “Someone better explain,” Majka says, his voice high-pitched. “Rudjek damn near got his arm cut off, and he’s fine! Sukar, your face healed too . . . What exactly is going on here?”

  “My tattoos are for protection,” Sukar reminds him, “and they heal minor injuries.”

  As Kira sees to a wound on her ama’s thigh, Essnai murmurs, “I should�
��ve been born Zu.”

  “That doesn’t explain you, Rudjek.” I cross my arm, waiting for an explanation.

  Everyone stares at him. “I guess this is a good time to finish my story.”

  The blood of the dead shotani curdles on the air like sour milk. Their oppressive magic has dissipated like the ground drank it upon their death. A swarm of flies light on their bodies while vultures circle, waiting for us to clear the path to their meal. “Tell it on the way.” I wrap my arms around my shoulders. “We should keep moving.”

  Majka jabs his finger at me. “You have a lot of explaining to do too.”

  We trek through the rest of the night and the next day. I keep my distance from Rudjek as he tells us the truth about his ancestor, Oshin Omari, who as it turns out had been a craven posing as a human. This explains so much: why Arti had never been able to strike at the Vizier, why Rudjek always got sick in my father’s shop. The magic overwhelmed his senses and his body tried to block it. Yet Efiya had still been powerful enough to fool him. To touch him. A chill snakes down my arms as the memories rush in and I steer my mind back to obsessing about the cravens.

  In the Dark Forest, the guardians helped Rudjek learn some of their skills. Although aside from healing, he failed at most of his lessons. Fadyi is exceptional at shifting, which I’d guessed from the fine details of his human features. Jahla is the tracker in the group—a huntress who can find anything. Räeke can bend space and manipulate her environment, much like a witchdoctor. Ezaric is a skilled healer, and Tzaric is the best fighter among them. All cravens have these skills, but some are better at them than others. I’m curious about what else Rudjek can do, but I don’t ask. That would involve actually talking to him.

  It’s a shame, because I have so many questions. Why doesn’t he have any of their physical features? Did he experience any signs outside of his allergy to magic before his death in the Dark Forest? There’s more to his story, but I hold my questions. They can wait for now—or forever, since I will die the moment I kill my sister. Butterflies settle in my belly at the thought. It isn’t fair; my life feels like someone’s idea of a joke. Let’s see what awful thing we can throw at her next, see if we can crack her in two. But I refuse to break. I will see this through to the end.

  When I’m over the shock, I have the urge to tease Rudjek—like he’s done so many times to distract me when I failed at magic. I can’t deny the giddy feeling of excitement tickling my chest—even with so much that’s happened. But I bite my tongue. My friend is a craven. I watch him as he walks ahead with his guardians flanking him. The story about his ancestor always seemed fantastical to me, but I never questioned it. The truth is so much more interesting than the legend. Leave it to Rudjek to find a way to be even more magical, or . . . anti-magical, if there is such a thing.

  Once we’ve both told our stories, the conversation stills. Rudjek sneaks glances at me now, but he gives me space. And with Essnai and Sukar here, it’s easy for me to avoid him. We walk all day, but the pace is slow. It’s near nightfall again when we reach the pass that leads up the Barat Mountains, and we’re too exhausted to start the climb.

  We set up camp and split into two watches, as a precaution in case the shotani come again, or worse, Efiya’s demon army. The cravens take the first watch. Rudjek isn’t at all pleased that I set up my pallet between Essnai and Sukar, far away from him.

  Essnai and Sukar ask me how I’m doing more times than I can count, and they go out of their way to see that I get enough to eat. They’re being overprotective because of my magic and because I’m going to die. I’m the last witchdoctor. Almost. Efiya is something else, but there’s still Arti and Oshhe—my father who I left in the hands of monsters. My belly aches thinking about how I abandoned him. I can only hope that Efiya is still busy with her army and searching for the Demon King’s ka. That should keep Oshhe safe, as long as Arti leaves him be.

  The morning comes fast. I drift on the edge of sleep, tossing and turning, unable to find comfort. In my dreams Rudjek holds Efiya in his arms. He caresses her cheek and stares at her mouth like it’s some delectable fruit that he must taste. They kiss, long and sensual, full of passion that makes me ache. He promises that he’ll go to the end of the world to protect her. He belongs to her now—not me. He will never be mine.

  I don’t want this memory, and I’d do anything to forget it, but I never will. I hate Efiya for tricking Rudjek, and I can’t forgive him. I can recognize the rhythm of his steps on cobblestones with my eyes closed, the musical cadence of his voice in the crowded East Market. We grew up together. Spent countless hours sneaking off to the riverbank. He should’ve known she wasn’t me.

  “Who should’ve known she wasn’t you?” Sukar asks.

  I clutch the covers to my chest as I sit up. Sleep fog clouds my mind, and every muscle in my body still hurts from the battle with the shotani. It’s been a long time since I last trained with a staff with my father, and in those days I never felt this exhausted. “What?”

  He peers down at me, wearing a frown that wrinkles the tattoos on his forehead. “You said he should’ve known she wasn’t you.”

  My friends don’t know what happened between Efiya and Rudjek, and I have no intention of telling them. Sukar looks to Rudjek, who’s with the cravens on the edge of camp.

  “What’s going on between you two?” he asks, his voice low.

  Rudjek stares at me with those eyes as dark as the hour of ösana, his expression pained. He isn’t paying attention to whatever Fadyi and the others are saying.

  I start to roll up my pallet—careful not to disturb Essnai and Kira, still fast asleep in each other’s arms. “Nothing of importance.”

  “That’s an obvious lie,” Sukar scoffs, “but it’s not my business.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “It’s none of your business, so don’t ask.”

  “Someone has some bite this morning.” He laughs, his face twisting in such shock and indignation that I can’t help but laugh too. I need laughter. I need to forget. I don’t have time to lament over what could’ve been between Rudjek and me. I’m going to die anyway. I’ll be at peace then. I keep telling myself that to push through another day.

  As we trek across the mountains, I avoid Rudjek at all costs. Maybe I’m not being fair to him, but it’s better this way. Whenever we’re near each other, I find something to do, or strike up a conversation with one of my friends. With Essnai or Sukar, we share our favorite moments from the Blood Moon Festival. Majka tries to cheer me up—that is, when he’s not trying to woo the craven with the freckles and silver hair. When Kira isn’t checking on Essnai, she lets me practice with one of her daggers. Every time I thrust the blade into thin air, I imagine my sister’s face and feel sick to my stomach.

  On the seventh day, we leave the mountains behind and descend into a valley on the outskirts of the tribal lands. There’s been no sign of Efiya or her demons or the shotani. My so-called friends each feign a task and leave Rudjek and me at camp alone. I’m annoyed with them for their little trick. I wander from camp too, but he follows me to the river. I’m not ready for this conversation. Not yet. The wounds are still too fresh.

  I stop without facing him. “I’d like to be alone, please.”

  “Are you going to avoid me forever?” Rudjek asks, irritated.

  “That’s the plan,” I say, “so go away.”

  “I know you can never forgive me about Efiya . . .”

  I turn and the sun catches the angles of his jaw. “You’re a fool.”

  “I deserve that,” he says, gaze flitting to his feet. “I deserve worse.”

  “Am I supposed to be flattered that you thought I’d give myself to you?”

  “I wanted to give myself to you too.” He shudders. “I should’ve realized . . .”

  I’m so mad that my whole body shakes. “Yes, you should have!”

  We stand with little space between us now. His intoxicating scent tickles my nose. How he manages to smell so amazing afte
r days on the road is bewildering to me. He reaches for me, but pauses, his eyes asking for permission. I should say no and walk away to put us both out of our misery, but I don’t. I nod because I still want him too.

  Rudjek cups my cheek in his hand and I turn my face into the warmth of his palm and let him pull me against his chest. The drumming of his heartbeat echoes in my ears. The strength of it lulls me into a sense of peace. I could stay like this forever, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

  He buries his nose in my hair and inhales like he’s taking a breath of life. “Arrah.” My name is sweet music on his tongue; the call of birdsong; the hum of the ocean. His next words send a shiver down my spine. “I need to tell you something.”

  The chieftains’ whispers startle me and drown out his voice. His hand is so hot against my face, too hot. A sharp pain cuts through my cheek and I pull away from him, half stumbling. It feels like someone just slapped my face. The magic inside me shifts, preparing to strike out at Rudjek. I draw back even farther and he does the same, an invisible barrier pushing us apart.

  Rudjek glares at his hands like they’re dangerous serpents. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. The anti-magic. That’s why I should’ve known it wasn’t you, Arrah.” He winces. “Re’Mec said that we could never be together. Even if we can control our respective gifts—your magic and my anti-magic, there are other consequences. We would weaken each other, and eventually one of us would destroy the other. Back in the clearing, that’s why—I thought that maybe he was wrong. I thought we had a chance.”

  “But that’s never happened between us . . .” My mind races through the almost kisses, the lingering touches, and the flush of heat in their wake. Before, I didn’t have magic, but now, with the chieftains’ kas, things are different. “Efiya . . .” It doesn’t make sense. My sister is magic, yet . . .

  “I don’t know.” Rudjek takes another step back from me. “She’s different somehow.”

  Dread fills my belly as the answer becomes clear. If my sister is strong enough to kill orishas, then his anti-magic would be nothing against her. The irony of our situation doesn’t escape me, and I force down a bitter laugh. My entire life, I’ve longed for magic to mend the rift between my mother and me, but that’s a foolish wish for a foolish girl. I have it now, and it isn’t enough to stop Efiya, only enough to ruin any chance I have with Rudjek in my final hours.