Reaper of Souls

by Rena Barron

Fram is at my back, silent as night, not encouraging me either way. Death and life are their domains, and even in chains, the prospect of both feeds into their nature. They grow stronger, but more spiny black appendages shoot up from the ice to keep them contained.

  When I lift the sword of light, it feels ten times heavier than when I reaped the demons’ souls. Daho’s eyes pin me in place. They drag up memories of endless nights exploring the wonders of the universe with him. Endless nights exploring his body and him exploring mine. “Dimma loved you,” I whisper. For better or worse, she and I are two halves of the same soul. “Always remember that.”

  I swing the sword, fast and hard, my lives flashing before my eyes. I am lying beside Daho in the cabin as he tells me a story. His lips brush against my ear, and something hot stirs inside me. I am dozens of people who blur into oblivion. I am with Rudjek at the Temple with my back pressed against the wall, waiting for him to kiss me. I scream when the sword is within a breath of Daho, but my arm jerks at the last moment and the cut goes wide.

  The sword slams into the ice, and I fall into him for the second time. He grabs my waist, but he doesn’t pull me closer. He looks up at me with tears in his eyes, and it’s clear he thinks that I couldn’t go through with it.

  I gasp for air as Dimma stirs inside me, writhing in her chains, pushing against my will. Her consciousness uncoils and a new awareness flickers at the back of my mind. Rather than feel separate and apart from me, she is the whole and I the dim light in her shadow. I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting her to consume me, but her presence fades again. I realize then, and perhaps I should have always known, that she would never let me reap Daho’s soul.

  “I need to know that Rudjek is really gone,” I say, rushing my words before she takes my voice. I fear what will happen if she pulls free of her chains—will I be just another memory in her ancient life?

  “If that’s what it takes for you to let him go,” Daho says, crestfallen. He flicks his wrist, and the gate appears at the edge of the lake. It looks like floating sparks of magic this time. “Come, and I will show you.” Daho flashes a sharp look at Fram. “We’ll be back for you soon enough.”

  “You have Iben’s gift?” I ask, surprised. I assumed that Shezmu had it, since he was working with Tyrek.

  “Shezmu and I both do,” Daho answers as he reaches for my hand. “Iben was very powerful and cunning. It took both of us to kill him, and once we did, we divided his soul in half.”

  I take Daho’s hand, reluctant at first, but my palm fits into his like they’ve been made for each other. We walk through the gate, him smiling down at me. “Your eyes,” he says. “They’re changing.”

  I don’t want to know what that means, but I can already guess. Your eyes are like hers, a deep brown the color of night pearls. I say nothing as we step back into the camp with the tribal people. Rudjek is there. Essnai, gods, she’s okay. She and Kira startle from where they’d been sitting on the ground. Fadyi and Jahla are near Rudjek, but no Majka. I fear the worst. The tribal people scramble to fight. Essnai scoops up her staff, while Kira slips two knives from the sheaths against her thighs. I raise one hand to tell them to hold their attack, and they halt.

  “Yacara,” Daho says to the demon inside Rudjek. “Your queen requires proof of who you are.”

  Rudjek doesn’t reach for his shotels. His hands remain limp at his sides, his posture relaxed. He looks back and forth between the two of us, from my face to Daho’s. His midnight eyes are unreadable—and this is a mask that I cannot see through. Is it you or the demon? Give me a sign. He walks closer, leaving the others behind. His gaze flits to our interlaced fingers, and I let go of Daho’s hand, my face burning with shame. When Rudjek reaches us, he bends to one knee, his eyes shifting to a brilliant jade. “My king and queen.” He bows his head. “I have devoured the boy’s soul, and I am yours to command.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Arrah

  Too late. Always too late. I couldn’t save Kofi. I couldn’t save my father. I couldn’t save Sukar. Now Rudjek. I bite the inside of my cheek, the sharp taste of blood filling my mouth. I stare at Rudjek’s wild curls, his smooth brown skin, the blood on the hilts of the swords at his sides. I remember the day my sister put a demon’s soul into a cat’s body, how it writhed in pain and suffered. Had Rudjek suffered, too? All because of me—because he loved a broken girl with a treacherous heart.

  “Get out of my sight,” I hiss at him, my stomach retching. I am close to throwing up the wine from last night. When the demon looks up with his jade eyes, I flinch as if he’d slapped me across the face. Not Rudjek’s eyes, not Rudjek’s, not him.

  The demon frowns and stands to his full height. “I don’t understand.”

  Where Rudjek, or what used to be Rudjek, is broad shouldered, Daho is lean and two heads taller. Rudjek’s curls refuse to stay in place. Daho’s dark hair molds to his scalp in waves like the boys in the tribes who wear doreks. Brown skin to silver. Flat teeth to sharp edges. Gods, they are both beautiful. But one is very much dead, and the other should be.

  “It’s okay, Yacara.” Daho pats his general on the shoulder. “Leave us.”

  As the demon turns to go, I say, “Wait.”

  He stops with his back to me, but he doesn’t turn around. It’s better this way. I don’t have to look at him as I cross the space between us and whisper my goodbyes to Rudjek. I lean in close to his ear. “I choose you, Rudjek.” I know that my declaration will be lost on the demon, but I have to say it out loud for my own sake. “I love you, and I hate you for dying.”

  The demon’s shoulders shudder as he clears his throat. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he responds in Rudjek’s deep timbre. Was that a cackle in his voice, a hint of sarcasm? “Is there anything else, my queen?”

  I move away from him. “No.”

  “Are you satisfied?” Daho asks, impatient, and I’m annoyed that he can still be jealous of Rudjek after what he’s done.

  “Are you?” I glare up at him, and his cheeks flush purple. “I’ll never forgive you for this—not today, not in a thousand years.”

  “You will in time,” he says with so much conviction that I almost believe him.

  “Oh, there is one other thing,” Yacara says from behind us, his voice a low rumble. I flinch in irritation and glance over my shoulder in time to see flashes of silver. His next words come through gritted teeth, and there’s no mistaking whose words they are. My knees go weak. I can hardly stand. “Get away from her, you soul-eating bastard.”

  Rudjek plunges his swords into Daho, one piercing his chest and the other his belly. I gasp as he pulls back, and blood splatters everywhere. I am torn in two, frozen in place. He’s very much alive, but how—his eyes. I can’t explain it. I let out something between a snort and a laugh as I blink back tears. Only Rudjek would be foolish enough to antagonize the man who brought the gods to their knees. He’s alive.

  I stare at Daho, bent over, gasping for air. Craven anti-magic brushes against my skin as arrows slam into him. Two, three, four, a dozen. They tear through his wings, his chest, his belly. Blackness spreads from the wounds as the anti-magic poisons his blood. I stumble toward him as he collapses, writhing in pain on the ground. It happens so fast that I am left in shock when he falls still.

  “That’s for sending your man Yacara to eat my soul.” Rudjek shakes the blood from his swords. “You won’t be hearing from him again. After I expelled him from my body, I took great pleasure in shredding his soul to pieces.”

  Fadyi and Jahla are on Daho in a heartbeat, binding him with chains made of craven bones. Dimma roars inside me, her pain slamming against my eardrums. I gather my magic—no, she gathers my magic, her attention on the cravens. She’s going to kill them.

  “Did he hurt you?” Rudjek asks from behind, and I spin around, back in control again.

  “Of course not,” I snap, annoyed. “Daho would never hurt me.”

  “Daho?” Rudjek’s face darkens in suspicion as he s
heathes his swords. “It would appear that I’ve missed a lot.”

  “We don’t have much time.” The chains won’t hold Daho, but for now, they’ll keep him from healing. I tell Rudjek almost everything, my mind spinning, the story coming out in the wrong order. I skip the part about the almost kiss. “I share a soul with the Unnamed orisha, with Dimma, his ama.”

  “Hold on.” Rudjek rubs his forehead, rocking on his heels. “Are you saying you’re the Unnamed orisha—that you and he—” Rudjek grimaces at Daho curled up in a puddle of blood.

  “He and Dimma,” I say. “I’m not his ama, nor is he mine. I’m not her.”

  Rudjek frowns. “And the orisha of life and death did this to you?”

  “Yes.” I look past him at the tribal people watching us, waiting for trouble. “Raëke is dead.” I don’t ask the question on the tip of my tongue. I can’t when I see the pain in his eyes. First, he lost the craven twins, now her.

  “Re’Mec sent her to spy on you and lied about it,” Rudjek says, his shoulders sinking, eyes hollow. “I should’ve known he’d do something so despicable.”

  “You didn’t send her?” I ask, surprised.

  “Of course not.” Rudjek lets out a long breath. “I trust you with my life.”

  Dread sinks into my chest. With everything that’s happened, it’s a foolish thing to say. I hardly know myself now that I have accepted Dimma as part of who I am. I don’t tell him what I’m thinking, that he shouldn’t trust me, that if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll run away as fast as he can.

  “Where’s Majka?” I ask, but Rudjek only glances at Jahla and shakes his head. I don’t know what to make of that, but I understand enough to drop the subject for now. It can’t be anything good.

  I bite my lip as I step closer to him. “Your eyes?”

  “I learned some new tricks.” His irises fade back to the darkest of nights. “I almost didn’t make it. The demon—Yacara—was strong, but my anti-magic bested him in the end.”

  We stand so close that his familiar scent toys with my senses. “You must get the tribal people as far away from here as possible before Daho wakes again. Where are Koré and Re’Mec? They need to get him back into the box.”

  “We left them fighting Shezmu and his army.” Rudjek glances at Daho’s crumpled body again, his expression blank like he’s trying to process everything. I can’t blame him. This—all of it—Dimma’s memories, Daho, the never-ending cycle of death, it’s too much. “They’re much stronger than any of us could imagine.”

  “I know,” I say. “They intend to destroy the orishas and anyone who gets in our way.”

  Essnai steps forward with Kira at her side. She’s okay except for some scrapes and bruises. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her the truth about Sukar. It will break her heart.

  “We’ll get the tribal people to safety,” she tells me. Her face doesn’t betray her thoughts, but I wonder if she’ll look at me in a different light now that she knows the truth. Once she discovers that I killed Sukar, will she ever forgive me? I don’t know if I can forgive myself.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  “Can’t leave for a full day without you getting into trouble.” With tears in her eyes, Essnai pulls me into a hug before she and Kira return to where the tribal people are gathered in the camp. They work quickly, organizing the group, and start to move out immediately. The progression is slow, with so many people hurt from fighting the demons or too weak from captivity.

  Rudjek lifts a pair of red leather gloves from his pocket. “I’ve been carrying these around for this moment.” He slips them on and brushes his fingers across my cheeks. I lean against his hand, feeling the warmth of him through the glove and the buzz of anti-magic. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I say, closing my eyes, “but you need to leave with them. I can’t help you fight Daho when he wakes. Dimma won’t let me.”

  “You know that I won’t—”

  We both stumble when the ground moves beneath our feet. I make to push Rudjek away, but it’s already too late. Vines shoot up through the dirt and whip around his throat. Rudjek falls to his knees. I pull at the vines, and thorns tear into my hands. His anti-magic burns my fingers, but I don’t stop.

  “You shouldn’t listen to her,” Daho says, his voice coming from all around us. There is a husk of a body where Fadyi and Jahla had tied him up, and it blows away on the wind. The cravens sprint to help Rudjek, but more vines shoot up from the ground and thrash around their bodies. Fadyi and Jahla melt into gray masses, letting go of their human forms, to slip through the vines. But Daho is ready for them, and his vines intertwine into a prison to trap Fadyi and Jahla beneath it. The vines start to shrink and burn into their flesh. Their shrill screams pierce through the valley.

  “Let them go!” I demand, leaching life from the vines with my magic. They wither and turn brown, only to be replaced by new vines sprouting from their husks.

  Essnai, Kira, and the other tribal people stand still—Daho has stopped time for them, but Rudjek and his guardians resist his magic. “Iben’s gift is remarkable, but I can’t go back in time and save Dimma and my son. I can only watch the moment that Fram killed them. There are gaps in time that I can’t explain. Missing pieces.” His voice cracks around the edges. “What good is it to see it without being able to do anything to change it?”

  Daho materializes behind Rudjek, his silver skin shimmering in the amber sunlight. He looks down his nose at Rudjek clawing at the vines, then he glances at me. “How could you love him—he has traitor blood running through his veins?”

  I frown, not understanding, but Dimma’s memories slip to the forefront of my mind. She hadn’t killed the endoyans who had opposed the slaughter of the demons, but they’d been afraid of her wrath. Some had escaped through the gate to Zöran. The Northern people had dark veins and diaphanous skin because of their endoyan ancestors. Rudjek shares their blood through his mother. Traitor blood.

  I bite back an irrational sense of anger that curls up inside me. Rudjek isn’t responsible for what the endoyans did to the demon people, yet I can feel Dimma’s mistrust of him. Knowing she could destroy so many out of revenge makes me think that she was no better than her brethren. But haven’t I done the same with the demons whose souls I reaped? And I would again if it means that I could save the tribal people.

  “Don’t do this,” I beg, my voice quiet.

  “He had his chance to die the easy way, and he fought it.” Daho yanks the vines around Rudjek’s throat. “Now it’s time to show him why the orishas fear me.”

  “No!” I shout as something catches around my ankles. I lose my footing and hit the ground on my belly. The craven bone chain that had trapped Daho snakes around my ankles and up my legs. Anti-magic burns against my skin as it drags me close to Fadyi and Jahla.

  Daho mouths an apology, but I don’t want his sorry. He’s done this to stop me from helping Rudjek. I struggle against my restraints, screaming, but it’s no use. With the cravens so close and the chain around my legs, my magic has fallen asleep underneath my skin. I can’t free myself, and I can’t stop him. “Please!”

  Daho lifts his dagger to Rudjek’s throat. “We have some unfinished business.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Rudjek

  Someone should’ve warned me how much the Demon King likes the sound of his own voice. I gasp for air, clawing at the vines cutting into my throat. Between the gloves and blood, I can’t get a good hold of them, and the pain is almost enough to make me piss my pants.

  The Demon King grabs me by the back of my collar and drags me away from Arrah. I’m rather put out that he’s making me look like a first-year cadet rather than a commandant with my own army.

  Arrah fights to free herself from the craven bone chain Fadyi concocted when we reached the camp. I couldn’t have guessed that he would turn our weapon against her. “No!” she screams, her voice hoarse. “Please!”

  “We have
some unfinished business,” the Demon King snarls as he thrusts a dagger to my throat. Not just any dagger—the one Arrah used to kill Efiya.

  “For the record,” I huff out, “I’ve beaten Re’Mec several times in the arena, so bragging about the orishas fearing you isn’t very impressive.”

  The Demon King digs the knife into my skin, but my anti-magic resists the blade. “She’ll hate you for this, you know,” I say, sounding as calm as I can with a blade biting into my throat. “Whatever Arrah feels right now will become a part of Dimma.” I lick my lips, tasting blood. “Can you live with that?”

  “Your fling with Arrah will be a passing moment in the greater scheme of Dimma’s life,” he scoffs. “You’re nothing to her.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I say. “She chose me.”

  My words hang in the air, and his grasp on the dagger slackens a fraction. I’ve struck a nerve. Now time to twist the knife. “I don’t know how things were on Ilora, but here we fight for the ones we love. I challenge you to a battle of strength—no tricks. Let Dimma and Arrah see who will prevail. I warn you, though: I am widely known as the best swordsman in Tamar.”

  I glance at Arrah, struggling against her restraints. Her golden eyes look like pits of lava. They aren’t only her eyes anymore, and she’s not the same girl who set off for the tribal lands. I can see that as plain as day. She stares up at the Demon King, and since he hasn’t answered my challenge, I assume he’s staring back at her. Some silent message passes between them, and a pang of jealousy knots in my gut.

  “Fine,” the Demon King mumbles, lowering his dagger. “I’m inclined to let you make a fool of yourself.”

  I pull the vines from around my throat, and they burrow back into the soil. I brush away the dirt and grass from my elara as I glance at the tribal people, Kira, and Essnai. They’re still looking toward Arrah, frozen in place. The scene would be jarring if I hadn’t stepped outside time when we faced the Zeknorians. I know how endless the space between two moments can seem, how it elongates and stretches.