by Rena Barron
“Give us the prince and the tribal witch,” the man offers, “and we’ll spare you.”
Tyrek points one of his shotels at the mess of melted flesh and bone and ashes where the first assassins fell. “How about you come and get us yourself and see if you fare any better than your friends.”
One of the assassins takes off his craven bone pendant of a ram’s head and thrusts it into the edge of my shield. I recoil as the anti-magic brushes against my senses, and the shield dims a little. “Oh, good,” the man with the scar says, his voice like stone striking stone. “I do like things the hard way.”
Another assassin is kneeling to add his pendant to the edge of the barrier when an arrow plunges into his eye. A figure leaps from tree to tree, shrouded in shadows, with a bow slung across their back. I thought I’d imagined someone helping us when the scouting party attacked before. I’d dismissed it as a delusion from my injury. The assassins scatter across the ridge, ducking behind trees as the archer shoots arrow after arrow. I squint, trying to make out the archer’s face, but they’re too far away. One thing’s for sure, they move like a skilled fighter, quick and light on their feet. But who would be hiding their identity while they help us—what could be the reason for such secrecy?
“Let down the shield.” Sukar rolls his wrists, the moonlight gleaming off his sickles. He has a hungry look in his eyes like he wants nothing more than to hurt someone—to kill. The rage to strike, to fight, to do more than be afraid.
“Either now or later,” Essnai says. “They’ll keep coming.”
“Do the two of you coordinate your bad ideas, or is it a coincidence?” Tyrek moans, looking resentfully at them.
We have no choice but to fight. I release the shield, and the assassins descend upon the ridge in a blur of blood, pain, and death. I’m numb as I pull lightning from the sky, searing flesh and splitting skulls. When it’s over, the archer’s gone. I stare down at the thirty dead assassins, feeling a cold detachment as I set their remains on fire.
They deserved to die, the Demon King says in my mind.
I don’t disagree.
We’re bone-tired when we set up camp on the ridge amidst the assassins’ ashes. With the threat behind us, I call upon magic to see across time again to study the crossroads Tribe Zu built to escape the demons.
My vision bursts into a tapestry of shadows and light woven into the memories of the last people to flee the demons. Two hundred and forty-seven had gathered along the ridge, two with the gift to see the crossroads. The group stayed back to help set traps and fortify the magic around the Zu camp. They were people who hoped that one day they’d have something to come home to.
The memories paint a gruesome story of the Zu’s last stand. Broken bodies of warriors lie everywhere—the dead and the dying. A girl, no more than twelve, stands between the advancing demons and the crossroads. Tattoos shift on her ebony skin, taking a new shape as she raises her arms in an arc over her head. A circle of ashes settles on the ground about the crossroads, forming a shield. Outside it, a hundred people who’d been with the group turn back to fight the demons.
The Zu wield magic and weapons alike, slicing and cutting and severing and impaling. They open sinkholes in the ground, turn vines and trees into living, thrashing killers. Magic shaped into hyenas and lions and cheetahs stalks out of the forest to attack the demons. But these demons aren’t like the ones we fought at the Temple of Heka. I stumble back as the memory plays out, dread sinking in my belly.
The demons are tall and winged, with teeth sharpened into points—like the boy from my dreams. Their magic is stronger, more refined, more sinister. Wounds to the heart and broken necks and missing heads only slow them down. One by one, their bodies remake themselves or shift into gray smoke, so weapons cannot hurt them. They tear through the Zu warriors in mere moments.
I wrap my arm around my belly, struggling to take in the memories without falling apart. Is this why the orishas couldn’t stop the demons before, could only trap them in the void in Kefu? Twenty-gods. They wouldn’t die.
An old woman grabs the girl, and her shield snuffs out like flames doused with rain. The woman pulls her away, and tears stream down both their cheeks. The girl resists as she takes in the blood and broken bodies. She sees the demons rising from the dead, sees them sprouting phantom wings.
Come, child. The woman tugs on the girl’s arm. We must join the other tribes before it’s too late. We’ll be stronger together. This time the girl relents. As soon as they step onto the path, it disappears, and so do they.
The crossroads aren’t only in Tribe Zu—how had I not thought of that before? Just as the edam banded together to help me defeat my sister, the tribes would’ve had a plan to evade the demons. The crossroads must be a network connecting all the tribes. That means that there are still people from all five tribes somewhere, hiding. They’re alive. But not all—not the ones who stayed behind to protect the crossroads, not the warriors who fought. I watch in horror as the demons bind those who survived the onslaught—nearly a hundred people—and march them into the crossroads.
“No,” I whisper as the last of the memories fade.
“What did you see?” Essnai asks, her voice desperate. “What is it?”
I draw in a ragged breath, tears blotting out my vision. I can’t stop shaking. “Survivors from every tribe—not just Zu—escaped through the crossroads, but . . .” I can barely bring myself to say it. I don’t want it to be true. “The demons entered the crossroads.”
“That’s not very promising news,” Tyrek mutters, bleak as always.
“Then we go, too.” Sukar stares into the campfire. “We can still save them.”
He’ll be seeing things differently once I tell them about these new demons, but for now, we need rest. We do not know what tomorrow will bring once we enter the crossroads. I curl up on my pallet, exhausted, and slip into a dream. I’m in the little cabin with Daho in the early morning. The first veins of sunlight shine against his silver skin and the flour on his cheek. He crosses the room in three steps and plants a warm kiss on my mouth that sends tingles through my body. “I made a cake,” he says. “It’s the first anniversary of the day you saved my life, so I figured we should celebrate.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that in one year, his cells, his blood, and his soul have changed. He’s one step closer to death. I smile at the lopsided cake slathered in purple buttercream. No one has ever made a cake for me. “It’s beautiful.”
“No, it’s not.” Daho laughs. “It’s ugly, but it tastes good.”
“I can help you live forever,” I say, not sure if my plan will work. “Would you like that?”
Daho slumps in the chair at the table. “If it means I get to be with you, then yes.” His gaze flits to the floor. “But first, I need to go to Jiiek to avenge my family.”
The scene changes, and Daho and I sit together on the bed. I press my lips against his, catching him off guard. He breaks into a smile and pulls me into his arms. His lips are soft and warm and wild as I climb into his lap.
“Dimma,” Daho breaths against my mouth. “Is this what you want?”
“I want you,” I whisper. “I want you in all the ways mortals can have each other.”
His teeth graze the nape of my neck, and I tremble in anticipation. “I might have a few ideas.”
I wake from the dream with a start, and I bolt up on the pallet. Someone grabs my shoulders. I struggle against them, desperate to free myself. The dream lingers in my mind, the feel of his lips against mine, the touch of his silky feathers. “No,” I gasp as my whole body aches for him.
“Arrah!” Essnai shouts my name. Smoke rises from her seared hands where she’s touching me. I cover my mouth in horror.
“I’m sorry!”
Essnai grimaces. “I’m fine.”
I take her hands into my own, tears blurring my vision. “I could’ve . . .” I don’t finish the words as I spread magic across her palms like it’s a salve.
Her wounds heal.
“I’m better now.” Essnai glances at Sukar, who looks worried.
Still reeling from the dream, I rush away from the camp, needing to be alone. “I’m not her,” I repeat until my mouth is dry. “I’m not Dimma.”
I breathe in the night air, and my lungs ache. It feels good. It feels real. I am real, and this is my life. I stop with my hands on my knees, sparks of magic circling me like a stirred-up hornets’ nest.
Essnai is quiet as she steps up behind me, but I sense the calming nature of her soul. I let it wash over me, hoping that it can calm me, too. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I cringe. “I want to forget.”
“Okay.”
“What?” I whirl around. “I hurt you, and your answer is ‘okay.’”
Essnai shrugs, her face unbothered. “You said you don’t want to talk about it.”
We sit together in the dark, and I half bury my face against her shoulder. I’m a little kid again lost in the desert after running away from the woman who traded her years for magic at Imebyé. Essnai had found me crying that night. “He’s different in my dreams than the orishas make him out to be in the stories,” I confess. “How can I know what’s real?”
“Have you considered that both are true?” Essnai pulls me closer, and I sag against her, knowing that in this moment I’m safe. “He was a man and a monster.”
I already know it to be true, but I don’t want to believe it.
“Stop trying to carry the weight of the world alone.” Her voice is an anchor to my drifting boat. “Sukar and I will always be here for you. We’ll help you through this thing with the Demon King when you’re ready.”
I pull away from Essnai, dread filling my chest. “I need you to promise me something, okay?” She cocks an eyebrow. “Promise me that if something goes wrong, you’ll save yourself.” Before she can protest, I add, “Run straight back to Kira. One of us should have a chance at a normal life. Heka knows that it won’t be me. You both deserve to be happy.”
Essnai looks away, a shadow passing across her face. “I miss her nagging me with some random historical fact and her obsession with always being right. I miss teasing her, and I miss her smile.” Essnai’s voice falters. “I miss her.”
“Then go and be with her,” I beg. “Don’t waste the precious time you have.”
“If things turn for the worse, I will,” Essnai promises, and I know that I can take her word for it. At least she’ll be safe.
The demons on the crossroads were stronger and faster than any demon we’ve ever fought before. I don’t tell Essnai what I know to be truth. It isn’t a matter of if things turn for the worse; it’s a matter of when.
Twenty-Three
Rudjek
One day on Zeknorian soil and I’ve got myself shot and poisoned. Not bad for a pretend prince playing commandant. If I thought sneaking to the docks at night with Majka and Kira had been daring, my voyage to the North had one-upped it. I’d gone from getting black eyes in alleys to almost bringing down the wrath of an army out for blood. As night falls over Zeknor, I miss the comforts of home, hot baths, copious amounts of spicy sausage, the arena. I miss Arrah and wonder if she’s found the tribal people yet. Not for the first time, I regret not telling her about the demons and my plans to come North. I regret asking Kira to keep it secret from Essnai, too.
As campfires flicker in the gloom of night, Fadyi and I stand outside my tent. At my orders, Captain Dakte runs the soldiers through drills. They need to stay sharp, especially with a third of the gendars looking ashen and reeking of vomit after falling ill on the voyage. That’s at least one thing that he and I agree upon. Jahla, along with Majka and Kira, left hours ago to oversee setting up a perimeter around camp.
“Are you still unwell?” Fadyi asks, glancing at the cut across my sleeve.
I attempt and fail to lift my arm. It’s completely numb from shoulder to fingertip and heavy as stone. “Unwell is an understatement.” I clear my throat, and my mouth feels like it’s filled with desert sand. “Can you or Jahla do anything about the poison?”
“Ezaric could’ve drawn it out.” Fadyi strokes his chin, his brow furrowed in concentration. His expression reminds me of what he said on the ship about his kind eyes and authoritative beard. “He could heal any internal ailment not to do with decay, but it takes a level of talent neither Jahla nor I have.”
I swipe away the sweat gathering on my brow. “So, I’m going to die?”
Fadyi frowns like he’s clueless as to how I could have come up with that conclusion. “Your best chance is to push the poison out of your blood on your own.”
“Ah, of course,” I grumble, like it’s no big deal. “Why didn’t I think of that.”
“Use the means at your disposal,” Fadyi says. “Humans have several methods to rid themselves of waste.”
The timing is not good. The Zeknorians have been somewhat friendly since we’ve stopped trying to kill each other. Commander Korr gave permission for us to set up tents, though I’m rather put out that he made sure we were downwind from Abezer. Black ash from the town mixes with snow in the biting wind, coating everyone and everything. Every gust brings in the strong smell of charred wood and flesh. Like it or not, I need Korr’s full support to move about in Zeknor. His complement of soldiers is equal to mine, but he could call for more if he hasn’t already. “Have you gotten word from Raëke about the craven reinforcements?” I shift on my heels as an aching pain catches in my shoulder, creeping toward my chest. “Are they coming?”
“You’ll be the first to know if I hear anything,” Fadyi says, pulling at the hairs in his goatee. “In truth, I’m concerned that we haven’t gotten word from her yet. Lord Re’Mec shouldn’t have sent her off without informing us first.”
I pat Fadyi on the shoulder with my good arm. “You’re finally starting to see Re’Mec for the worm he is.”
“Worm?” The sun god steps out of a cloud of ash. “You need to work on your limited vocabulary, Rudjek.”
“And you need to stop popping up when no one’s summoned you.” I’m still pissed that he made the situation with the Zeknorians worse with his big mouth.
Re’Mec laughs as if delighted by the exchange of insults. He really isn’t much different from his persona of Tam, except for the whole god thing. “Your reinforcements should arrive in two days with the favor of Mouran’s winds. That should give you enough time to win Commander Korr’s favor.”
“And what of the other orishas?” I ask. “Will they bother to show up this time or stay idle while we fight your war?”
His eyes flash with angry blue flames, but I refuse to back down. “Did I hit a tender nerve, Lord Re’Mec?”
The sun god breaks into a smile, and the night sky brightens a bit even though there’s no moon in sight. “Our children used to revere us and cling to our every word without challenge, but times have changed.” He puts his hands on his hips as he gazes upon the camp with feigned interest, stalling to answer. “We’ll have Koré’s support, Mouran’s, and Sisi’s, who could never resist a fight.”
I’m not surprised about Mouran, the sea god, who helped Arrah get back to the Kingdom all those months ago on his ship. I remember hearing about Sisi, the orisha of fire, and her short temper in my history lessons. “Is Koré back? Has she visited Arrah?”
“Yes, yes,” Re’Mec mumbles under his breath. “Arrah, Tyrek, and the others are quite fine.”
“Why is Tyrek with her?” I ask, and gendars gathered around a fire nearby go quiet to eavesdrop.
Re’Mec frowns. “Do I look like the tribal witch’s keeper?”
“Don’t call her that,” I say through gritted teeth.
Re’Mec shrugs like it makes no difference to him. “Last I heard, your father sent assassins after her and Tyrek, and she destroyed them.”
My whole body shakes at the news, and my blood boils. My father hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still the same person who had a young girl tortur
ed. The man who sent one son away and kept the other hidden from the public out of embarrassment. How could I ever think him any better than what he’s shown me? “You’re sure Arrah’s okay?”
“You should worry about her, but for a different reason,” Re’Mec remarks. “She obliterated your father’s most trained assassins with a flick of her wrist.”
“And what should she have done instead?” I glare at him. “She was defending herself.”
“She could’ve handled the situation in any number of ways,” Re’Mec insists. “You must see the power imbalance—why magic is so dangerous in the hands of mortals?”
“Sounds like she’s handling her magic just fine,” I say, frustrated with him. I should be with Arrah. She shouldn’t have to fend off my father’s men with the likes of Tyrek by her side. I can’t fathom what she must think of my family now. I’ll be lucky if she ever talks to me again.
I have every intention of confronting my father when we return home. I already know he’ll make excuses, claim that he did it for the Kingdom. Coward. He’s scared of her becoming Ka-Priestess with the loyalists’ support. But he’s overplayed his hand, and I’ll make sure he fails. “I need to change,” I say. “Captain Dakte and I are meeting with Commander Korr in an hour.”
“Do you need me to come along?” Re’Mec asks.
“Absolutely not.” I enter my tent and let the curtain drop behind me.
“He’s in a rather foul mood,” I hear Re’Mec whisper to Fadyi on the other side.
Ignoring them, I take a bath and change into a white-and-gold elara, thinking it best to present in my princely role instead of as the commandant. Captain Dakte and I head for the Zeknorian camp on foot with six guards, Fadyi and Jahla among them. The camp is upwind of the burned city, and the air is crisp. We’re greeted by two Zeknorians, one who identifies himself as Commander Korr’s Second. The Second leads us into a tent that’s larger than the others but half the size of my own.
“So, you claim that demons destroyed Abezer,” Commander Korr says, stoking a fire. Smoke rises through slits where the cloth gathers above it. “The monsters from your kingdom’s fables.”
