by Rena Barron
“She killed children so you could be free. . . . One of them was my friend,” I say, seething with anger. “Efiya killed hundreds of people and gave their bodies to your demons. She killed the edam and destroyed the tribes.”
“I’m sorry,” Daho says, tears staining his cheeks. “I could never ask anyone to hurt a child.”
I hug my arms around my shoulders, remembering the warm feeling of the light inside Dimma. Their son had made her so happy, but the horrible night at the Almighty Temple with Shezmu spoils the memory. The children had lain so still, their souls captured in jars like fireflies. “What are you saying?” My heart slams against my chest.
“It doesn’t matter.” Daho grimaces, his gaze flitting away. “You’ve suffered enough.”
I step closer to him. “Tell me the truth.”
“Dimma—”
“Don’t,” I warn through gritted teeth. “Tell me.”
After a deep sigh, he explains, “I asked Arti to kill for me, yes. It was the only way to give Shezmu enough strength to father Efiya. Children’ souls are strongest, and she chose them for her ritual to guarantee that she would not fail. So you see, I may not have bid her to kill them, but I’m no less at fault. I am so sorry for your friend and the others. Their deaths are my sins to bear.”
I can’t consider what it means that my mother had chosen to sacrifice children of her own free will. I don’t doubt that she would do such a thing if it got her one step closer to striking back at those who wronged her.
“Your sister released the demons in Kefu and started a war with the tribal people against my wishes,” Daho says. “She had your mother’s fury and ambition and her father’s bloodlust. My only concern is to destroy the gods who imprisoned my people, and anyone who would fight for them.”
When he falls silent, I realize that the celebration outside has died down. It’s quiet, and there is nothing to distract me nor stand between him and my treacherous heart.
“I came back for you, my love.” His voice shatters on every word, words that he’s waited five thousand years to speak. Words that I didn’t know I needed to hear until this moment.
Despite everything that’s happened, I close the distance between us. Heka save me, I sink against his chest and let him wrap me in his arms. I give in to his embrace, lost in lifetimes of memories together.
“I’ve missed you, Dimma,” he whispers against my ear, and chills crawl up my spine.
I pull away from him, feeling like a fool. How could I be so dense? He doesn’t love me; he doesn’t want me. “I’m not Dimma,” I say. “She’s a part of me, but I am not her.”
“No, not yet.” Daho shakes his head, his face empathetic. “I will force Fram to release her, so you’ll be complete again.”
I back away from him. I need to think; I need space. I storm past him and out into the camp, only it’s not the camp anymore. We’re on a frozen mountain in the early hours of the morning. I gasp, recognizing this place. It’s Dimma and Daho’s frozen lake, much like Rudjek and I share a spot along the Serpent River. “Dimma loves you”—I blink back tears—“but I love Rudjek.”
“He will no longer be a problem for us,” Daho says behind me, all warmth suddenly gone from his voice.
I turn back to him, and my heart breaks at the guilt in his eyes. “What have you done?”
“I had to be sure there was no way he could stand between us.”
My magic raises to the surface of my skin, wind whipping through my hair. “What did you do?”
“I gave his body to Yacara, one of my most loyal generals,” Daho says, his voice devoid of emotion. “Rudjek is gone.”
The Unnamed Orisha: Dimma
I cannot finish my story without coming to this day. Some memories have sharp edges, and the endoyans’ attack on Jiiek cuts deep. Daho and I arrive to burning skyscrapers and rivers red with blood. Demons lie strewn in the streets by the millions.
Daho’s wings shudder against his back as he turns in a circle. “How could I let this happen?”
I wrap my arm around my belly, and our child pushes a thousand questions into my mind. He is restless as his shape changes from tiny feet, tiny hands, and tiny wings to energy that hums through my vessel. I haven’t the time to answer his questions, and he relents for now. I will remember his curiosity above all else after he’s gone. With my hand still on my belly, I stop the endoyans from fighting on every corner of Ilora. I once promised Daho that I would never peer into mortal’s minds, but I break my vow. It is the first of many promises I will break.
The endoyans fight out of fear and jealousy. Jiiek is flourishing, people live longer, more children are born. They believe that under Daho and my reign, they will lose their lands. The fear is both rational and irrational. Jiiek has grown, and our borders continue to expand to cover three-fourths of Ilora. What the endoyans do not know is that Daho and I have already made plans to shape a new world for our growing population.
Minister Godanya, who spent many years in our palace, has seeded fear in his people’s minds for decades. Their fear grew into hate, and their hatred grew into justification for violence. They bided their time and waited for the right opportunity to strike. They killed the children first—every single one of them—with the help of one of my brethren.
I do not second-guess as I hand out their punishment. I tug the tethers of every endoyan connected to the war—weapons makers, soldiers, politicians. They resist my pull, but it’s no use. I snatch them from their bodies. They will become wandering spirits who crave what they can never have again: life.
“You will live this way for eternity as a reminder of your crimes.” Shadows cluster in the courtyard where we stand, begging me to release them. “You will be at our mercy until the day my love deems your punishment just. Until then, you will serve the demons when they call upon you.”
Fram once told me that they saw something of their nature in me. It tingles in my soul now, the hunger, the need to create and destroy, the need for change. I am not the same as my brethren. I know that now. I am something else, something that will break the universe and remake it again. It is my nature; it is my purpose.
“Have I gotten your attention yet?” hisses a soft voice that echoes in the courtyard. A shadow pulls away from a burning wall and walks toward us, her form shifting to mirror my vessel. She looks exactly like me, but she is an endless black hole, a disease. Her nature is to consume everything in her path and seed chaos in her wake. Her name is Eluua—another one of my brethren who I am meeting for the first time.
Daho steps in front of me, and his beautiful white wings spread wide. “Stay away from my wife, you murdering bitch.”
“So testy, aren’t you, boy.” Eluua flicks her wrist, and Daho falls to his knees. Several dozen demons gather at the edge of the courtyard. They see twins of their queen—two Dimmas, one of destruction and mayhem, and the one they know. Eluua’s appearance is not an accident. It will ignite a spark of doubt among the demons that will grow with time. “Where were we, sister? Yes. I remember now. Re’Mec and Koré forbade us from attacking you, but they didn’t say anything about the people you cherish. You were taking too long agreeing to die, so I’m here to speed up your decision.”
I touch Daho’s shoulder, releasing him from Eluua’s grasp. He does not yet understand that his body is only a vessel. That he can shake himself loose of it and take a new one at will or no form at all.
“Dimma,” he says, his voice riddled with tears. “I can’t lose you, too.”
“You won’t lose me,” I promise. “I will take care of my sister.”
“Take care of me?” Eluua laughs. “The arrogance of children.”
I shed my vessel and bundle my child deep inside me as my true form emerges. I am a windstorm of fury with flecks of ash and gold. I am smoke; my heart, if I have one, is black and hollow. When I slam into Eluua, her vessel turns into moths that scatter every which way. We are balls of light, tearing each other into pieces only to rejoin agai
n.
“I can do this for centuries,” Eluua coos in my ear. “If I’d known you were this easy to upset, I would have come sooner.”
I spread my soul into a spiderweb and seep into her cracks. She is empty inside and endless, immense. She gasps, finally understanding that I’m unmaking her bit by bit, stripping her apart.
“No!” Eluua screams. “We are eternal. This can’t be possible.”
“You will still be eternal, sister,” I say, “only in the form of my choosing.”
When I’m done, I spin her soul into a dagger with rubies inlaid in its handle. I return to my body and gift it to Daho. “Eluua will only answer to you and me now. She will be a prison for everyone who opposes us and destroy anyone else who attempts to wield her power.”
“Bring her back!” screams one of Daho’s ministers and his closest friend. He clutches his daughter, Ta’la, in his arm. Her silver skin is ashen, her body limp, her wings broken. “Please. She’s my only child.”
“Shezmu.” Daho stumbles toward his friend. “I’m so sorry, brother.”
“All the children are gone.” Shezmu stares at my belly. “Give me a chance to avenge my daughter and protect our people.”
I offer my gift to every single demon. I speak to them through the threads that bind us. If they want revenge, they must become as powerful as my brethren. Most agree with vengeance in their hearts; some agree out of fear. Some will grow to regret their decisions and hate me for it. Some do not trust me because of Eluua’s vile actions. The ones who refuse will not survive the next attack. I give the ones who want revenge the organ under their tongue that will allow them to eat souls. Then I set to work, splitting myself into endless pieces and bestowing upon them my gift.
I grant them immortality, but I unknowingly give them my hunger, too. I change them forever. In truth, I have prolonged their suffering and sentenced them to eternal damnation.
Thirty-Seven
Arrah
The mountain air is cold, but my blood runs hot as magic dances underneath my skin. I refuse to believe that Rudjek is gone. He can’t be. I shake, the news washing my thoughts blank. Daho stands across from me, his face—Sukar’s face—grief-stricken, and I hate that his grief isn’t for Rudjek. It’s for himself. He’s so desperate to get Dimma back that he would do the unspeakable. He already has. The wind flaps against the tent, singing the mountain’s song. Dimma loved that sound, and I want to shatter her memories to pieces.
“Dimma is dead, and she’s never coming back,” I say, striking at his heart. “You’re a fool if you don’t know that by now.” As soon as the words come out, I know they won’t convince him. “Take your people and go. Stop fighting this endless war.”
He meets my gaze again, and his eyes change from deep brown to green. His skin ripples until it settles into silver flushed with purple undertones. How many people have to die in his quest to punish the gods? How many will be enough to sate his appetite?
“Do you think the gods will ever let my people live in peace?” Daho asks. “Don’t you see what we are? They hate us because we’re no different from them.”
I watch in shock as my friend’s form disappears completely. Wings flutter at Daho’s back, their shadows stretching across the tent. He’s taller than Sukar, slender with short wavy hair. He’s everything I remember, a beautiful storm, a first kiss, a broken boy. My heart pounds against my chest, and I root myself in place. I will not give in to Dimma’s memories of him. I can’t forget about Kofi and the other children who died so Efiya could be born. The tribal people, the edam, hundreds of Tamarans. Rudjek.
“What do you hope to gain now?” I cross my arms, steeling myself for my next strike. “Dimma and your son are long dead.”
His eyes flash with pain, and his voice trembles when he speaks again. “Their deaths will not be for nothing. Koré and Re’Mec are afraid of their own mortality, but I will show them what it really means to be mortal.”
My hand goes to my belly, remembering the feel of the child, and the emptiness inside me now. I would never exist if Dimma and her child had lived, yet I mourn him. “Let my people be and wage your war on the orishas someplace else. You’ve already caused so much destruction and death—leave us out of it.”
“I will promise you this,” he says, his voice crumbling around the edges. “If the tribal people do not side with the Twin Kings, I will order my army to spare their lives.”
“When does it end, Daho?” His name is a broken melody on my lips, a discordant song. Desperation weaves between my words like silk unraveling at the seams. “Will you keep fighting the gods until you destroy what’s left of yourself and your people?”
“Yes, if it comes to that,” he hisses, his eyes wide and terrible like two suns colliding. “It ends the day I tear Re’Mec’s soul into pieces and feed him to the Supreme Cataclysm. It ends when I behead Koré and force her to spend five thousand years in a box. It ends when every single one of them is dead.”
“Dimma would not want this.” I throw up my arms in frustration. “She wouldn’t want to see you and her brethren destroy each other.”
“You would know,” Daho says, his gaze piercing. “You are a part of her.”
My fingers ache to trace the curves of his perfectly symmetrical face. His wings shudder as if he can read my thoughts, and I notice the way his left wing sits a little higher than the right. He looks the same as he had earlier when I still thought he was Sukar—like he’s holding himself back. The anguish twisting his beautiful face only makes me more anxious and frustrated.
It would be so much easier if I could despise him, but I see the boy who ruled Jiiek with a gentle hand and a kind heart. The boy who never got tired of telling Dimma stories even after seven centuries together. The boy who stood by her side when her brethren condemned her to death. I know that it’s hurting him to keep his distance from me after waiting so long to reunite with his ama. Yet his patience only makes this that much worse.
I turn and flee into the cold—flecks of snow stinging my face, the wind burning my skin. I wade through blankets of snow that cling to my trousers. I’m freezing, but the cold makes me feel alive; it clears my head. Something shimmers in the rising mist in the middle of the frozen lake.
I slip on ice and pitch backward. Daho is there, a flush of warmth. I land in his arms, my back against his chest, his heart racing to meet mine. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. I resist the urge to lean into him, to close my eyes, to let go. I can’t deny that some part of me yearns for him—needs him. But he isn’t who I want. As soon as I regain my balance, I step away.
The fog peels back from the lake and reveals hundreds of black appendages wiggling up from the ice. They wrap around two bodies, one made of crystal and one obsidian.
“Fram.” I wince. They should be the rush of a tide or a cluster of stars, but the appendages have imprisoned them in these limited material forms.
“I warned you,” they say, twin voices as beautiful as they are horrible. “But, like Dimma, you never listen.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You tried to kill me.”
“You were already dead.” Fram’s matter-of-fact tone leaves no room for argument. “I only sought to make sure you stayed that way.”
I bare my teeth at them. “None of this would be happening if not for you.”
“You wouldn’t exist, Arrah,” Fram says, “if not for me.”
Daho’s fists clench and unclench at his sides. “Release Dimma.”
“To be so clever, child,” Fram muses, “you are not that bright. I cannot release Dimma—death is her only release now.”
I wrap my arm around my belly. “If I die, Dimma returns to the Supreme Cataclysm.”
“Precisely as it should be,” Fram says. “The universe will stop dying. It is a noble sacrifice.”
“You’ll find a way to restore her, or you’ll die first,” Daho spits through gritted teeth.
“Killing me would be a mistake,” Fram warns. There is a
thread of fear in their words, not of death but of something worse. “I am all that holds the balance between the living and the dead.”
Daho slips the dagger from underneath his sleeve. “Don’t force my hand.”
I step in front of him, my magic spreading into a swarm of little lights to protect Fram. I am driven by a deep instinct and some forgotten knowledge that they mustn’t die.
“What are you doing?” Daho’s face twists in shock. “This is the only way. If I kill Fram, then the magic that chains Dimma will break.”
“If you take one more step”—I force out every word—“I will kill you myself.” It breaks my heart to say it, but I mean to do it.
Daho straightens himself up, his eyes defiant, daring me to make good on my promise. He thrusts the dagger out to me, handle first. “Take it if you want to kill me. I won’t stop you.”
My hand trembles as his fingers brush against mine. He kneels on the ice with his wings outstretched—his shoulders slumped in submission. There is no doubt in his glowing eyes, and I see the face of the boy he once was, the boy he still is, in all the ways that matter.
“Strike me down if you don’t love me anymore,” he says, but he isn’t talking to me. His words and his heart are for one person alone.
As I squeeze the hilt, the dagger shimmers from blade to light. A hollow hum echoes in my ears, and the knife grows into a sword. I can end this right here. I will end this.
