Raybearer

by Jordan Ifueko

  I remembered Melu’s words about Bhekina House: The magic of that place is not easy on one’s mind. I pitied my former tutors and servants. No wonder they had been so stiff and paranoid. It was a mercy they had not gone mad.

  We passed through the manor’s smooth plaster halls, searching for clues about Aiyetoro. “This house felt like a prison,” I murmured, “but it’s still beautiful. I wonder why The Lady didn’t stay here.”

  Woo In was quiet for a moment. “She did,” he said.

  Kathleen shot him a warning look, and I shook my head.

  “She would vanish for months,” I countered. “I would lie awake at night, wondering where she was. Wondering—” I swallowed. “Why she never missed me as much as I missed her.”

  Kathleen nudged Woo In, scowling, but he pushed her away. “She deserves to know,” he told her, and turned back to me. “The Lady watched you to the point of obsession. She did leave a few times, to anoint more council members. But she always came straight back. She took notes on your first steps. Your first words. Your progress in all your lessons.”

  I snorted. “A few times?” Woo In’s adoration of The Lady must have mottled his memories. I had been lucky to see my mother more than once a year.

  Woo In winced. “I . . . did not always agree with The Lady’s methods regarding your upbringing,” he muttered. “But I’m sure she wanted the best for you. For all of us.”

  My forehead wrinkled with doubt.

  “Come,” he said. “There is something you should see.” We climbed a staircase carved into the plaster, and my heart pounded with recognition. Before us hung the thick, embroidered door flaps of my old study.

  “I can’t go in there,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because—” I bit my lip. Because in that room, I hadn’t been one of Aritsar’s anointed. I hadn’t been the wuraola who commanded tutsu, or even the friend in whom Sanjeet and Kirah put their trust.

  In that room, I had been an ehru. The Lady had been all I knew of love, and I would have killed for her. I had always been her puppet, even before she bound me with a wish.

  “I tried to scrub them off, you know,” Woo In said then.

  “What?”

  “The maps,” he explained. “After I escaped the Underworld, I covered my skin with clay. Dressed in layers up to my chin. But I was always checking under my clothes. Fearing that the lines had grown. Hoping that they had faded. I checked so often, it became easier just to dress like this.” He gestured to his bare, pattern-covered chest. “I saw my past in the mirror every day. I grew accustomed to it. And then—” He drew aside the heavy door flaps. “I stopped being afraid.”

  I hesitated, then passed into the dim room. The smell of musty scrolls washed over me. Dust motes twinkled in sharp slats of light, which fell from boarded-up windows. My tutors had shut them so I would not hear the songs of other children. I could still feel the splinters in my hands, the arms gripping my waist, restraining me as I tried to rip the boards away.

  “The Lady and the emperor have more in common than they think,” I murmured. “They’re both terrified by stories they can’t control.”

  Kathleen sniffed. “The Lady only wants what’s best. For all of us.”

  My old stepping stool lay on its side beneath a window, covered in spiderwebs. Just like when I was little, the long, high study table was piled with books and censored history papers. From its pedestal, the carving of The Lady still watched over the study, its onyx eyes gleaming. Woo In picked up the carving, blowing dust from the wooden crevices.

  “Stop,” I stammered. “Be careful with that.”

  He smiled and handed me the heavy bust. “Notice anything unusual?”

  I squinted at the shapely face, so cold, and so like my own. I had studied beside the carving every day, and noticed nothing different about it now. Except—I held it to my ear and gasped quietly. “It hums,” I said. “Like the walls, and the orchard. I think it’s enchanted.”

  Woo In took the carving back. “I’m guessing the servants didn’t let you touch it.”

  “How did you know?”

  He hesitated. “Because you would have taken its memories. You would have seen.” He beckoned, and I followed him to a narrow corridor I remembered as the entrance to the servants’ wing.

  That place is very haunted, the servants had told me. Ghosts live there. Bad spirits, who take little girls away.

  What if I want to go away? I had retorted.

  Spirits who eat little girls, the servants had amended quickly. And first they take them far away, where The Lady can never find them. It is a very bad part of the house. You are lucky we live there instead of you.

  I had not been sure I believed them, but the idea of being forever parted from The Lady had dampened my curiosity. I had never lingered near the servants’ wing again.

  Woo In led us down the plain corridor, and after several yards—just far enough to be out of earshot of the main house—the hall turned sharply, and my feet passed from stone tile onto lush carpet.

  The perfume hit me first. My heart reacted to the smell of jasmine as it always had, with terror and longing. Expensive mudcloths dyed with indigo patterns swathed the walls. Woo In fumbled with a shimmering lock, on a wooden door inlaid with mother-of-pearl. “It takes a singing password,” he said, scowling as he tried to remember. “You know the one. ‘Me . . . mine . . .’”

  “She’s me and she is mine,” I finished, my voice a whisper, and the door clicked open.

  We entered a small apartment of rooms. Jasmine seeped from every futon, every wax-dyed drape and tasseled pillow. A creeping sense of betrayal quickened my pulse, but I smothered it.

  “Is this where she slept when . . . when she visited?”

  “The Lady did not visit, Tarisai.” Woo In’s tone was patient. “She lived here.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “She knew how much I missed her. How I cried for her every single night. She couldn’t have been here. She wouldn’t. She—”

  A hand mirror glinted on a kneeling desk, making the words die in my throat. The reflection wasn’t right—it should have shown the smooth plaster ceiling of the apartment. Instead it showed a moving face. Knees suddenly weak, I sank down to the desk and grasped the bone-handled mirror.

  Woo In’s reflection stared back at me. “I’m sorry,” it said.

  I whirled around. Woo In was holding the carving, looking bleakly into its face. He turned the carving toward the desk—and then the mirror displayed me, seated on the floor cushions in The Lady’s apartment.

  “The whole time,” I breathed. “She was watching.”

  Paper covered the desk: notes in an even, elegant hand. The first I picked up was dated a year prior.

  Sometimes I still look in the enchanted glass. It is folly, I know. She will not appear. But seeing that empty study, the table where she used to sit frowning over her genealogy scrolls . . . It reminds me of the old days, when I was her world. My sweet, adoring girl! When I pretended to come home after a long journey, her face would glow. Such joy. Such longing.

  I am sure Olugbade’s brat never looks at him like that.

  Was hiding my presence cruel? But suppose I had commanded her by accident? Threw away my last wish—our only chance at victory? No. Regret is folly. The guilt will pass. It always does.

  Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed and seized another paper. This one was dated only a month ago.

  Still no word of her progress. She has chosen to forget me. The festival on Nu’ina Eve is my best chance. I shall make her remember. I shall make us one again.

  Older notes had been bound into a calfskin journal. I stole a moment of its story, and shivered. The calloused grip of my mother’s hands pressed into the leather spine. The first page was dated almost sixteen years ago, on my first birthday.

  She’s walking. My girl—my Made-of-Me—is walking! A tutor said her name, and she stumbled toward him. Clever, wondrous creature. Just like her mother.
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  I wish that she had walked to me instead, but I was afraid of commanding her.

  Would “Come here, daughter” count as my third wish? Melu refuses to tell me.

  I visited her tonight, as I always do. I kiss her brow as she sleeps, and sing our special song. I tell her all the realms we shall rule together. My girl smells of violets, of honey and grass.

  She smells—to be honest—too much of the wild, sun-soaked savannah. I tried to give her my smell, to bathe her in jasmine oil, but she sprouted a rash. Ah, well. I will see she grows out of it.

  I could not resist picking her up tonight. She woke and fussed, but quieted when I pressed her to my breast. Such a bright child—already she knows that all objects have names. Genius simmered in her large dark eyes as she tried to remember the word for me.

  “Lady,” she said.

  “No,” I told her, kissing that bed of soft, perfect curls. “Not Lady. To you, I am—I will always be—Mother.”

  The ink blotched and ran as I sobbed, shoulders quaking as I turned the pages. Woo In and Kathleen searched the rest of the apartment for clues, tactfully allowing me privacy.

  I read for over an hour. All the attention, all the affection I had craved from The Lady was here, written in clear, generous script. I could even feel her love, wafting from the memories of each page. But from the years of notes, one thing was missing. The journal called me my daughter. My girl. Darling. Made-of-Me.

  But never, ever Tarisai.

  Kathleen and Woo In returned, and wordlessly, he offered me a silk handkerchief.

  “Did The Lady mention Aiyetoro’s masks in there?” Kathleen asked.

  I shrugged, letting Woo In take the journal as I swabbed my runny nose. The handkerchief was so heavily scented it must have been from The Lady’s wardrobe. I sneezed.

  Woo In scanned the journal voraciously. “Sometimes,” he murmured. “She references previous searches, so maybe there’s more in the other journals. There’s plenty in here about us, though.” He chuckled at a page. “My, my, Kat, The Lady doesn’t think much of your singing voice.”

  Kathleen huffed in offense and tried to wrestle the journal from him.

  “Be careful with that,” I ordered, and the two of them jumped, staring at me.

  “Am’s Story,” Kathleen muttered. “For a moment, you sounded just like The Lady.” She relinquished the journal to Woo In.

  I asked him warily, “How many of you are there, again?”

  “You mean of The Lady’s council? Ten, so far,” he replied. “Three came with The Lady as children from An-Ileyoba. The rest of us were found after her exile.”

  “Where did she hide after leaving Oluwan?” I asked. “And why did she anoint you? Council members only represent Arit realms. Songland isn’t part of the empire.”

  “The Lady had a new kind of empire in mind,” said Woo In, his voice soft with reverence. “She’s different from your ancestor Enoba. He barred Songland from trading with the rest of the continent as punishment for our refusal to join his empire. But The Lady wants to change everything. That is why she anointed me. When she is empress, Songland can be represented on the Arit council, regardless of whether we choose to join the empire. Before I was your nursemaid, I campaigned for The Lady in Songland, convincing my family to trust her, and lend her aid when necessary.”

  It was hard to remember that Woo In was a prince. Most Redemptors grew up in orphanages, abandoned at birth by families who could not bear the pain of sacrificing them later.

  “What’s it like?” I asked. “Being a prince who wasn’t supposed to survive? I’m sure you and Mother had a lot in common.”

  “We did, and do.” He smiled tightly. “But I had better luck than The Lady when it came to older siblings. My sister Min Ja has always been protective of me, though . . . critical of my alliance with The Lady.”

  “I still don’t understand why you think Mother can help you. No one can control where Redemptors are born.”

  “As I told you long ago,” he replied, “only a Raybearer may unlock the secret of the Redemptor Treaty. Enoba made sure of it. The Lady knows how to save the Songland Redemptors, but she couldn’t share the process with me: She said it’s too intuitive for the Rayless to understand.” He pressed his lips together, as if trying not to let the secret chafe at him. “It’s the only way. If The Lady becomes empress and succeeds in freeing Songland, then my mother, Queen Hye Sun, will recognize me as Prince Ambassador: the first Songlander to have a seat on the Arit Imperial Councils.”

  I frowned. The abiku had implied that the selection of Redemptors was random. They had said, “The blood decides.” Had they been lying? Could The Lady really control where Redemptors were born?

  “Maybe she explains it in here,” Woo In murmured, flipping fervently through the journal. I watched him with pity. How could The Lady keep secrets from a follower as devoted as Woo In? And how could he love her so much, that he trusted her anyway?

  Then I laughed at my own hypocrisy. Of course Woo In trusted The Lady. Just like a touch-starved little girl, gazing from her study window, had trusted that her mother was away on important business.

  Together, Woo In and I collected several other volumes of The Lady’s journals and papers. I hunted for evidence of her Ray and read of her failed attempts to locate the fabled lost masks of female Raybearers. In the meantime, Woo In devoured any book that mentioned Songland, even if only for a page. Hours passed. I grew irritable and hungry, and went to forage with Kathleen in the enchanted orchard. Woo In remained in the apartment, lips moving silently as he pored over The Lady’s documents.

  When Kathleen and I returned, arms full of mangoes, Woo In was sitting frozen against The Lady’s desk, a journal open on his lap. He stared straight ahead, his face drained of color.

  “Am’s Story, Woo In. What’s the matter?” Kathleen asked, kneeling to read over his shoulder.

  He jerked away, and hurled The Lady’s journal against a wall with a cry.

  I gasped, then retrieved the journal and checked the spine for damage. When I looked up, Woo In had fled the apartment. Kathleen chased after him in confusion.

  The book fell open to the page he had been reading, calfskin still wrinkled from his viselike grip. The entry was undated, as though The Lady had been scattered in her thoughts.

  Will he forgive me, I wonder?

  He ought to. It would be unfair, at least, for him to hate me. Songland will trade with Aritsar, just as I promised. He shall have his seat as ambassador. These are gifts of which he could never have dreamed when I found him, a sullen Redemptor princeling, still licking his wounds from the Underworld.

  Am I not kind?

  Am I not as faithful as prudence allows?

  The entry broke off, then began again in slightly different ink, as though The Lady had attempted to abandon the entry, and returned to it days later.

  Their markets will prosper, she had written in hurried, restless script. Songland families will have me to thank when their bellies are full of Arit maize and their purses are lined in Arit silver.

  What better balm for the loss of a child?

  Besides—if I let the Underworld take Arit children, the empire would never let me rule. What good is a fallen empress to anyone?

  Another break. Then the entry resumed, and this time The Lady’s handwriting was calm and even.

  I will pay the price of peace, as my ancestors have before me. But I am better than Enoba. I did not take without giving in return.

  The words were a puzzle, and cold crept across my skin as the riddle came together, a picture I understood only in pieces.

  The Lady had known—or pretended to know—a way to prevent Songlanders from being chosen as Redemptors. Then she had made a promise, one she had no intention of keeping.

  I will pay the price of peace, as my ancestors have before me.

  Under her rule—despite her promise—Songland children would continue to be sent to the Underworld. The Lady had lied to Woo I
n, using him to gain control of Songland’s army. And judging from the white rage that had crumpled his features, he would not soon forgive her.

  CHAPTER 25

  “He’s gone,” Kirah said when I returned to melu’s canopy. “Woo In just left with Hyung. Didn’t even say goodbye.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “Kathleen left too. What happened?”

  Too stunned to explain, I touched Kirah’s and Sanjeet’s brows and let them explore my memories of Bhekina House. Then I showed them the journal, as well as the small hand mirror and enchanted carving, which I had taken with me.

  “The Lady is wise to reinstate trade with Songland,” Sanjeet observed grimly. “If she succeeds in overthrowing the emperor, she will need forces to control the capital.”

  “Unless Woo In changes his family’s mind,” I pointed out.

  “He could have said goodbye,” murmured Kirah.

  We left for An-Ileyoba that afternoon. We took a different sequence of lodestones this time, traveling through the heart of Swana. We continued to avoid towns, partly because of the Unity Edict riots, but also because a conspicuous cloud of sprites persisted in following wherever I went. Only when we left Swana did they disperse, and on a balmy evening several weeks later, we arrived in Oluwan City.

  I had expected An-Ileyoba Palace to look different now—for the outside to somehow match my insides, swathed in shadow and uncertainty. But ten-story empire flags still fell proudly over the sandstone walls. The music of griots wafted from the gardens. Peacocks strode around the courtyard, getting in the way of servants and sentries. Even the air smelled the same, of palm oil and citrus flowers. The Children’s Palace had been repaired after Woo In’s fire, no longer marred by soot and splintering timbers. The red domes shimmered in the setting sun, and a pennant flew from the highest balustrade: The crown prince and his council were in residence.

  “They’re here,” I breathed.

  “The emperor summoned them from Yorua. They would have wasted no time,” Sanjeet said. “After all the riots, he’ll want the Prince’s and Emperor’s Councils to show a united front.”