by Rena Barron
Laughter and curses rise from the Zeknorian army, followed by a torrent of insults. Their leader raises one hand to silence them. “You expect us to believe that ghosts from the past did this?”
I seed my voice with as much arrogance as I can muster. “I expect you to have some common sense before you commit yourself to a war on two fronts.”
Captain Dakte stiffens beside me. “Don’t push him too much.”
It’s a gamble, but one worth the risk. My political and strategy scribes always said that Zeknorians weren’t ones for politeness. I don’t put much stake in generalizations, but I won’t win over this Zeknorian with small talk. He needs to be made to see reason.
“It’s good that our arrow didn’t strike your man.” The Zeknorian sheathes his sword. “The smallest scratch would be deadly.”
“Good indeed,” I say, sweat trickling down my back. I glance over at Captain Dakte, who stares at the tear in my uniform, above the elbow, where a splinter from the arrow scraped my skin.
Twenty
Arrah
I tell myself that I can face what I’ve done, that I’m sorry. Neither is a lie, and neither is quite true. The first morning light settles across the mountains as I finally stumble back to camp. I stare at the dead assassins and the bloody ground through a haze. Someone’s rolled them onto their stomachs, and I’m relieved not to have to look into their hollow eyes.
I go straight for my saddlebag to take the dose of blood medicine I missed last night, but I stop short. The contents of the bag lie scattered on the ground, the jar broken, the blood medicine long soaked into the soil. Fighting off panic, I clutch the bone charm around my neck.
Sukar and Essnai glance up at me from where they’re packing the last of our things. They’ve cleaned the blood from their faces, but it’s everywhere else. I can’t read either of their expressions. I don’t want to know what they’re thinking. “We need to leave,” Essnai says, her voice weary. “The horses are dead, so we’ll walk.” I can’t bear to look at her, so I keep my gaze elsewhere.
Tyrek sits on the ground next to his sack, skinning the bark from a twig with a small knife. “What are we going to do about our ndzumbi?”
“Can you undo the curse?” Sukar asks, hopeful.
“I’m a hypocrite for saying it, but should she?” Tyrek questions, climbing to his feet. “What happens when he is free to go back to warn his camp?”
“I hate to agree, but . . .” Essnai rubs her eyes. She and Sukar both look exhausted. I should’ve never asked them to come. Even if I didn’t expect anything like this, I knew there would be risks. “We need to get them off our trail.”
I force myself to look at the assassin, lying on the ground, bound and gagged. His body tenses under my gaze, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood. As I close the distance between us, I wonder if the man has a family waiting back home. I kneel and untie the binding on his hands, my fingers brushing against his calloused palms. He is a person, and I have stolen him. I am the monster stalking the night now, not Arti.
“I will release you,” I say as the man rolls over to peer up at me. The morning light gives his eyes an amber hue with specks of emerald. They shine with eagerness for my command. “You only need to complete one task for me first.”
The man nods feverishly, ready to do anything I ask. “Tell the others that you were the sole survivor of the attack. You heard our plans to search the caves of Tribe Aatiri for an artifact that will destroy the Kingdom. Take some of our things with you and leave them for the other assassins to find in the caves.”
Tyrek strokes his chin. “Suran Omari doesn’t know who he’s up against. Our little Arrah has a devious streak.”
Ignoring him, I say, “Once you search the caves, convince the others that we must already be on the way back to the Kingdom. Do your best to stall them.”
“Yes, mistress,” the man answers, breathless, after I release his gag. “I will do as you wish.”
He collects items from around camp: a bowl, a headscarf, a dagger, the shards of the broken jar. Once he’s done, he leaves without glancing back and begins down the south slope of the mountain, toward the assassins’ camp. I scoop up my bloody cloak and slip it over my shoulders. I’m too exhausted to attempt to clean it. “That should buy us time to get to Tribe Zu without the assassins on our trail.”
We head north. Time is a tricky thing when you’re trapped in your head, a prisoner of your thoughts. We walk without rest for hours, and hours turn into a full day. I reach for the chieftains’ memories, and they flood me with an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to add to my own. I feel the Zu and Kes chieftains’ disapproval the deepest for twisting their magic.
Töra Eké, the Litho chieftain, is the only one of the five who is indifferent. I don’t expect better from a man who took pleasure in disposing of all who opposed him. My cousin Icarata of the Mulani bombards me with images of angry flames, her meaning clear. I will burn for what I’ve done.
“I had no choice,” I hiss under my breath at them.
Every moment is a choice, child, Grandmother replies.
Of course, she would speak first. I’m bitter that she is only a memory, a fragment, a ghost. I wish she could sit me down in her tent and tell me that everything will be okay. That we’ll find the tribal people who fled from my sister, safe and sound. That my mistakes do not define me. That I can live up to the expectations that she and the chieftains bestowed upon me.
I cannot trust myself with their gift—not after last night. I thought that I would be better than Arti and Efiya, that I could use magic for good. You’ve got a strange look in your eyes, girl, the charlatan had remarked at my father’s shop. Perhaps the chieftains made a mistake giving you their magic. For Heka’s sake, he’d seen something wrong with me even then. He’d known. Breaking Veeka’s glass had been petty, yes, but turning the assassin into a ndzumbi was vicious and cruel. I will never forgive myself for it, yet I can’t promise that I won’t do worse if it means we can find the tribal people. I won’t let anyone stand in my way.
I dig through the chieftains’ memories for the answer to a question I don’t want to ask. Is there a way to unbind their kas from mine? When I catch a glimpse of a single incantation shared across each of their memories, I shy away from the details. After we’ve found the tribal people, it wouldn’t be so bad to give up my magic, would it? I’d be a ben’ik again—magicless—no different from my friends. Nothing would stand between Rudjek and me being together. I wouldn’t have to fear touching him, and I would have the Demon King out of my mind. I wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
The Demon King has to know that I would never release him upon the world. His demons have already caused so much pain and suffering. Yet I am curious why he thinks that calling me by his ama’s name will win some sympathy. It isn’t the Demon King we need to worry about, my mother warned me. It’s your sister. What had he said to win Arti over to his side?
We leave behind the Barat Mountains at dusk and find a place to set up camp. Tyrek pulls out his wineskin, and Essnai and Sukar argue about which of them is the better cook.
“You can’t be serious after that bird stew,” Sukar says, grimacing.
“That recipe has been in my family for generations,” Essnai counters. “Everyone loves it.”
Sukar laughs as he pokes at the campfire. “How unfortunate.”
Essnai clucks her tongue. “You clearly have no taste.”
I don’t have the heart to tell them that they’re both quite awful at cooking, though Sukar is slightly better. While they argue, I go to wash at a stream away from camp. Magic that feels like a raging storm pricks against my awareness. My shoulders go stiff, and I let out a frustrated sigh. I rise to my feet and turn around to face her.
“Did you miss me?” Koré says, her dark skin iridescent in the moonlight, her voice high-pitched. “I’ve missed you.”
I stumble back when I see what she’s carrying—the box with the Demon King’
s soul. The holy script carved into the wood, all that’s left of the orishas who sacrificed themselves to trap him, glows. She found it. I’m relieved that the box is safely in her possession again, but I’m nervous that it’s so close to me. Especially now that I don’t have the blood medicine to help block the Demon King from reaching my mind.
“Why are you here?” All this time, she hasn’t bothered to visit, not after I gave up everything in the fight against my sister. She used me like a piece on a game board and discarded me when she lost interest.
“Don’t look so hurt, Arrah.” Koré offers me a smile. Strands of silver light weave between her waist-length braids, and she looks majestic. Her elara is a flame against the night, changing from fire red to amber as she moves. “I would’ve come sooner, but as you can see”—she gestures at the box—“I have my hands full with this trickster.”
The Demon King’s presence stirs inside my mind like a snake coiling tighter, and there’s fear, so much fear. I ache with it. Why would Koré bring the box here, knowing that I am the only one left with enough magic to free him? “How did you find it?”
“I followed some rather subtle clues I left behind to lead me back to it,” Koré says with a devious smile. “I’d hidden the box in a volcano on a world close to Zöran. I’ve heard from my brother that Shezmu has been searching, too, but I beat him to it.”
I don’t press her for more, lest she become suspicious of why I want to know. I hug my shoulders, pushing down the fear crawling across my skin like ants marching to certain death. If the orisha sees me trembling in the half light, she says nothing of it. She sits on the box, and I have a mind to snatch her right off and wipe that smug smile from her face.
The Demon King’s thoughts teeter at the edge of my own, and I clutch the charm around my neck. It was a mistake for Koré to bring the box here—it’s only strengthened our connection. Before, I could only hear him if I used complex magic, but that’s changed. His fear seeps into my mind now, and it’s so heavy that I’m drowning. But his fear isn’t for himself; it’s for me.
She is not to be trusted, he whispers.
I flinch at his warning and catch Koré staring at me with one eyebrow raised. “Is there something the matter with you?”
I abandon clutching the bone charm, convinced that Koré will find me out at any moment and cut me down where I stand. “Why are you here now after all this time?” I ask, and it comes out harsher than I intended.
“I felt the tug of your magic.” Koré props her elbows on her knees. Her words hang in the air between us, and I realize that I’d been thinking about the Demon King before she came. Did my magic draw him here? I am rarely impressed by mortals, especially ones not of my making, but I am impressed by you, Arrah.” Koré pauses, her eyes pools of milky light. “My brethren and I owe you a great deal. I’m here to repay that debt if you’ll let me.”
I shift on my heels. She speaks of the Demon King being a trickster, but I’ve seen the same from her and her brother. Always twisting the truth to get what they want—omitting the details. I can’t help but wonder what she has up her sleeve now. “And here I thought I was just a pawn in your game against the Demon King.”
She narrows her eyes at me and slips on another devious smile. “You’re nobody’s mule. Always remember that.” She stands again and picks up the box.
“Who is Dimma?” I know the moment the words leave my mouth it’s a mistake. Streaks of crimson bleed across the moon. I stumble when Koré suddenly appears nose to nose with me, blood pooling in the whites of her eyes, too.
“How do you know that name?” she demands. “We do not speak it aloud.”
“Efiya told me,” I lie. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you about her before you left.”
Koré blinks, the blood leaving her eyes as her anger abates. “She was our sister.” The moon orisha clutches the box tighter under her arm. “She fell in love with Daho and almost destroyed the universe.”
I don’t miss the irony of it—how Dimma and Daho had almost destroyed the universe, and Rudjek and I can’t touch without nearly destroying each other. It all sounds like one of the gods’ idea of a cruel joke.
“I loved my sister, and we killed her.” Koré sighs, her shoulders hunching. “You’d understand that better than most.”
“Yes.” I don’t trust myself to say more.
“We’ll talk again after I’m done with this business in the North,” she says. “Remember my offer. It still stands should you think of a suitable way for me to repay you.”
“What business in the North?”
“I thought you knew,” Koré says. “Your craven and my brother tracked down Shezmu and the rest of the demon army.”
I frown, unnerved by the news. If Rudjek has already reached the North, he must’ve left right after we did. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Is Rudjek okay?”
Koré gives me a look of indifference. “I assume so. The battle has not yet begun.”
At that, darkness melts around Koré, obscuring her body until she’s gone. My hand trembles as I wipe sweat from my forehead. I pace in front of the stream, not knowing what to do with myself. Rudjek is preparing to go into battle again. I should be at his side, unless . . . unless he didn’t want me there. He’d been reluctant to tell me about the demons in the city—he’d hidden the news for days. Had he also known that Shezmu and his army were in the North that night in the gardens at the Almighty Palace?
I sink to my knees beside the stream and splash cool water on my face as if I can wash away my doubt. I stare at myself through the ripples in the water and moonlight. I can feel the Demon King’s presence still, even though I’m not conjuring magic and with the box gone. Any hope I had that our connection would lessen once Koré left fades away.
“I won’t help you,” I say, glaring at the water.
Let me show you the truth, Dimma.
His voice is a desperate plea, shards of broken glass put back together wrong. My body goes rigid, taut as a fraying rope before it snaps. The Demon King’s patience threads through the silence. He could show me whatever he wants, but he waits for my permission. I can’t shake the curiosity flowing through me. How could two people falling in love almost destroy the universe as Koré said? I shouldn’t, but I nod anyway. I need to know why he thinks that I am Dimma.
On the surface of the stream, the water swells until my reflection settles into a new face. A girl with golden-brown skin, faint veins along her temples, dark eyes, tangled curls. Her wide nose slopes into an elegant arch, meeting full lips stretched over pointed teeth. I’ve seen this girl in my dreams, through the window of a cabin on a mountain. She sits at a small table across from a boy. She laughs with him. She climbs into his lap as his fingers explore the maze of her hair.
I scramble backward, dragging myself away from the reflection in the water. That girl isn’t me, and she is very much dead. Koré said so. “She’s gone!” I scream into the night. “Don’t you see that? Let her go.”
They will hurt you if they find out who you are.
He means Koré, Re’Mec, and the other orishas. If they think for one moment that I am Dimma, they will strike me down. Showing me her image doesn’t explain why he thinks I’m her. It proves nothing, aside from the fact that he’s been influencing my dreams. But I sense no deceit from the Demon King. He’d protected me from the men by the sacred Gaer tree because he believes that I’m his ama? I wrap my arms around my knees and draw them to my chest. I can’t let myself speculate about this now, when we’re so close to Tribe Zu. “Stay out of my way.”
Without the blood medicine, I can’t block the Demon King, so I do the next best thing. I focus on Rudjek. I daydream about him playing with my hair, me climbing into his lap, his hands around my waist. I take the memory of Daho and Dimma and make it about Rudjek and me. It’s a nasty move, but I don’t care. To my satisfaction, the Demon King recoils from my mind, but not before he whispers one last warning.
Fram won’t bring yo
u back if you die again. Be careful, Dimma.
The Unnamed Orisha: Dimma
I’d seen countless deaths on countless worlds and still hadn’t found a cure for Daho’s mortality. I grow resentful of the Supreme Cataclysm’s compulsion to create and destroy. It’s the reason Daho will die one day. Not ready to give up, I visit a world called Uthura. I sit on the roof above a city, watching its people wading through blankets of mist. Twin voices curl around me in a cool embrace that tastes of inevitability. “You seem to have an affinity for death, Dimma.”
They are light and dark, night and day, chaos and order, the sweetness of a first breath and the moment of death. One half of them glows, and shadows swathe the other, together shaping symmetry. They tell me their name and nature in the shift of the wind around us: Fram, the custodian of life and death. Koré is writhing energy, the calm before the storm, the storm itself. Iben is secrecy. I would soon learn that Re’Mec is heat and rage and nurture. Of the four, there is something in Fram that calls to me most, a kinship, a likeness.
“Why are they not immortal like us?” I ask as two bodies materialize beside me, four legs dangling over the ledge. I don’t mean only the Uthurans; I mean all mortal kind. I asked Iben a similar question, but perhaps Fram is more suited to answer it.
“Death is our gift to them,” Fram says. “Our offspring will never have our immortality, but they have an advantage over us. They will bear children of their flesh. We can only shape what the Supreme Cataclysm creates into some semblance of our image—they are only a shadow of who we are.”
“It seems more like a curse to me,” I say.
“You’ve fallen in love with a mortal, have you?” Fram asks pointedly.
I think of Daho’s lips against mine, the curve of his back, his laughter. “How do you know?”
“None of our kind ever cares about death until it affects someone they love,” Fram answers.
