Raybearer

by Jordan Ifueko

  “No,” Dayo cried out. “No more war. We’ll make a new treaty, one that protects Songland.” He bowed deeply to Hye Sun, who inclined her head. Min Ja only crossed her arms. “We’ll make new terms for the Redemptor Treaty,” Dayo continued. “The abiku will continue refraining from attacks on the continent, including Songland. However—to make up for the unfair selections of the past—the next generations of Redemptors will be born in Aritsar.”

  I cringed, anticipating what happened next. Delegates and courtiers from every Arit realm yelled and shook their fists, protests deafening as they threatened to rush the dais.

  “Please,” Dayo breathed. “It’s only fair—” But the din drowned him out, and he watched in a panic as the crowd grew in unrest. Below us, the abiku’s grins broadened.

  My council siblings fell in place to defend the throne. Sanjeet leapt on the dais, unsheathing his scimitars, barking orders to the Imperial Guard.

  Over them all I announced, “No more children will be sent to the Underworld.”

  The hall quieted. I planted myself on the largest dais echo-stone so my words carried. Then I spoke slowly to hide the shaking in my voice. “Instead of innocent children,” I told the abiku, “I offer you a true prize. A flavor you have never tasted, blood previously forbidden you. In exchange for permanent peace—for a treaty requiring no renewal and no more wars—I offer you the soul of a Raybearer.” I swallowed hard. “I offer the soul of an empress.”

  “No,” Sanjeet rasped.

  I can walk through fire, I Ray-spoke to all my siblings. Dayo’s face contorted as he remembered my words from so many years ago, when I had carried him from the burning Children’s Palace. All you have to do is trust me.

  “Empress?” scoffed Min Ja. “There has been no empress since Aiyetoro.”

  “And I bear her mask,” I said, and invoked the ancient title: “Obabirin.” The mask’s eyes flashed, and the hall took a collective breath, roiling with whispers. “I am Tarisai Kunleo, niece of the late emperor. The priests of Am may examine my blood,” I went on, “and confirm that it flows with the Ray. But these are the only witnesses who matter.” I pointed to the abiku and growled, “You know what I am, spirits. Do you accept my offer?”

  For the first time, the abiku shifted, features piqued with greed. They whispered among themselves, and then fixed their pink eyes on my face. “What you are,” they purred, “is the bearer of a weak Ray. Until your blood runs with the power of all twelve Arit realms, you would be a paltry prize for the Underworld.”

  “You require that I have a council?” My pulse pounded with hope. I could simply share a council with Dayo. My council siblings already loved me; they would have no trouble receiving my Ray alongside Dayo’s. “Done,” I said.

  The abiku smirked. “Not just any council, Obabirin. We require potent realm blood. To be an acceptable Empress Redemptor, you must anoint the twelve rulers of Aritsar as your council.”

  Around me, the realm rulers began to cluck in protest. My heart sank. How was I supposed to convince twelve rulers to trust me? More than that, they would have to love me, or else the Ray wouldn’t work.

  But I set my jaw and said, “Done. But while I’m assembling my council, you can’t claim any more children as Redemptors. Give me ten years.”

  The abiku scoffed, chuckling. “One.”

  I balled my hands into fists. “Five.”

  They considered, cocking their heads. “Two. Our final offer.”

  Slowly, I picked up the dagger that Dayo had dropped on the dais. Then, slitting my palm, I let my blood spill into Enoba’s shield on the floor. “Done,” I said, and my arms began to prickle.

  I watched in horror as blue symbols grew like lace across my forearms, twisting in intricate patterns.

  “A mark of your promise,” the abiku tittered. Then they vanished.

  The hall dissolved into frenzied whispers. Dayo took up my slashed palm, staring at it with grief and wonder.

  “You’re breaking your promise again,” he said. His imperial sun crown, an upright gold disc, glinted in my eyes. “You’re leaving.”

  “Not for two years. And who knows? Maybe I’ll survive the Underworld.” I tried to smile, but my lips faltered. “I’m sorry, Dayo.”

  “Don’t be.”

  He swallowed hard, then clasped my hand and raised it in the air. Blood ran down our interlaced fingers. He addressed the Imperial Hall, tears glistening on his half-scarred face. “Long live the heir of Aiyetoro,” he said. “Hail your Empress Redemptor.”

  CHAPTER 34

  After the treaty renewal, My council retreated to the Hall of Dreams, and I poured out all my secrets.

  I stood as they sat around me on stuffed pallets, listening blankly as I confessed about my mother’s wish. I told them how I had stabbed Dayo, discovered that I had the Ray, and freed myself from the curse by choosing justice, even to death, over my freedom. I longed to soften the story, drape it in downy caveats and excuses. But I resisted, letting the facts stand naked—that much, at least, they deserved from me.

  They were silent for a full minute. I searched each of their faces with terror, expecting to find my damnation etched there. Then Emeronya came forward and touched my brow, mimicking the gesture I had used every night in the Children’s Palace, giving her sweet dreams of snow and lullabies.

  “As I lean on you, Empress,” she said in her characteristic monotone, “you may lean on me.”

  Umansa touched my face next, wetting his fingers with my tears. “As I lean on you, Empress,” he said, smiling at the space over my head, “you may lean on me.”

  Then it was Ai Ling and Mayazatyl, Kameron and Thérèse, Zathulu and Theo . . . and last, Kirah, who grinned impishly as she repeated the vow. “When you first came here, I had to teach you what ice was,” she said afterward. “Don’t forget that when you’re big and mighty, Empress.”

  “I won’t,” I said, and my heart sank as I considered her. “Kirah, I think I’ll need your help.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.” I laughed, though a lump was forming in my throat. “Between recruiting the continent rulers for my council and preparing for the Underworld, I won’t have time to fix relations between Aritsar and Songland. But we can’t just ignore them. Not after what we did to them for centuries. We need to send an Imperial Peace Delegate, someone familiar with Songland customs. Or at least—someone who’s read a lot about them.”

  Kirah’s lips parted, slack with surprise.

  “It might take months. Years even,” I continued. “But if you can convince them to trade with us, then we can install a Songland ambassador at An-Ileyoba. I suspect that once he’s recovered, a certain sullen prince might be up for the job.”

  Say no, I begged silently. Don’t leave me, not now. Stay, be Kirah, the anchor in my storm of curses and secrets.

  Her hazel eyes misted. “I’ll think about it,” she said, but the excited tremor in her voice betrayed her; she had already decided. When she folded me in a cinnamon-scented hug, I smiled into her shoulder. No more cages, I thought. Not for Kirah, anyway.

  Last was Sanjeet. We hadn’t been alone since I returned from Sagimsan, and ever since I had offered myself to the abiku, he had barely looked at me. Did he think I’d been reckless? When he came forward at last, anger and pain deepened the hard lines of his face. And instead of touching my brow, his hands clenched my blue-marked forearms.

  “I will lean on you, Empress,” he said in a guttural voice, “if you promise you’ll come back.”

  I gulped. “Jeet—”

  “Promise,” he said, “that you’ll fight to leave the Underworld. That this isn’t some stupid, idealistic suicide mission to pay penance for a crime you did not do.”

  Kirah sucked in a breath. “Right. These two could use some time alone, I think. Let’s go. There’s dinner in the banquet hall.” Forcefully, she herded Dayo and the rest of my council siblings away, leaving me and Sanjeet in the shadowy Hall of Dreams.


  He released me and stalked to the tall arched windows. His tunic was long and sleeveless, black cloth crisp against his copper shoulders, and his profile sharp in the moonlight.

  “This is where we first met,” I said presently. “You were chained up.”

  His mouth lifted, a grimace and a smile. “Even then, you were bent on saving strangers.”

  “When Woo In flew me away . . . I was afraid you would come after me. I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “I sent five Imperial Guard cohorts. I told them to scour every corner of the empire for where that Songlander could have taken you. I even saddled a horse, planning to lead the search myself—”

  “But you didn’t,” I repeated, coming to stand beside him. “You stayed because Aritsar had just lost its emperor, and Dayo needed you. Aritsar needed you. It’s who you are, Jeet. It’s who I am too.” I reached up, tracing his stubbled jaw. “We weren’t raised to see the world as a small place, where nothing matters but our happiness. That isn’t our story. And . . . I don’t think it ever will be.”

  He leaned down, resting his brow on mine. “Death is a small world too,” he whispered. “Even smaller than happiness. If this is your way of giving up—”

  “I’m not giving up. If I don’t go to the Underworld in two years, children will die. You know that. I’ll have help, Jeet. I’ll send for someone who can teach me to survive down there.”

  “Woo In?”

  “Maybe,” I said. But I was thinking about Ye Eun: how fiercely she had stared me down at that temple in Ebujo, small fists clenched as she faced the mouth of hell. If anyone could teach survival, it was Ye Eun.

  I hoped, with a fleeting thought, that she would bring Ae Ri. The baby’s large, intelligent black eyes surfaced often in my thoughts, a mystery that played on my heartstrings.

  Sanjeet exhaled, crumbling like a pillar as he folded me in his arms, joining my heart to his. “The Underworld is not accustomed to losing souls,” he said. “It will tempt you to stay. You will want to pay for the sins of your ancestors, even after you’ve fulfilled the treaty. I can’t keep you safe. I won’t bottle up who you are, not even for your own good. But I’m . . . scared, Tar. I need you to promise you’ll come back. Please. I need you to—”

  I laced my fingers around his neck and pulled his face down to mine. He tasted like salt, like grief and fear. When I deepened the kiss, he swept an arm behind my knees, depositing us on one of the pallets. His hands passed over my waist and hips, and I hummed, each curve taut beneath my finely spun wrapper.

  “Promise,” he said. His mouth hovered over mine.

  “I will.” My voice was a rumble in my throat; my body was a drum, and he had struck its core. “I do.”

  Then I reached down and touched my ankle. Without hesitation, he drew the cowrie shell chain from his pocket and fastened it in place. Slowly, his fingers traveled up my calves, strumming until my skin sang a song without words. Minutes passed, and when the music swelled at last, we collapsed in the shape of each other, drifting into feverish sleep. Our bodies remained entangled when our council siblings returned for bed, tiptoeing around us to claim their pallets.

  I woke in the dead of night. The Ray had synced my siblings’ breathing as they slept—in, out, a sigh, a shudder. Relief seemed to hit me all at once. My throat welled up, and I buried my face in Sanjeet’s shoulder, stifling happy sobs.

  I belonged in this motley family, grafted together with blood pacts and mystery. I belonged in Aritsar, this empire of beauty and great suffering, teeming with stories like the gold-encrusted cells of a beehive. And I was no one’s tool. No one’s imposter.

  I was Tarisai Kunleo, and this was my family.

  In the distance, guards drummed messages on the palace walls: Gorro-gun-pa, da-dun, da-dun, gun-pa-pa. All clear—eleventh hour—the emperor and council are sleeping.

  Thaddace’s trial for Olugbade’s murder was tomorrow. It would take a miracle, but as the new High Lady Judge, I hoped to reduce his punishment from beheading to banishment. Then there would be a coronation—mine and Dayo’s, as well as the mantle-passing ceremony for the new Emperor’s Eleven.

  We would move from the Children’s Palace into the Imperial Suites: a maze of interconnecting chambers, with a special apartment for the emperor. Already, Dayo had ordered more apartments built for me, though I had tried to stop him. I couldn’t imagine being apart from my siblings. Though if I was to please the abiku, I would have new siblings soon.

  The faces of the twelve Arit rulers flashed in my mind: old and young, dark and pale, all frowning at me with suspicion. I sucked in a breath. Some of the rulers were old enough to be my grandparents. They hadn’t asked for this. How was I supposed to convince them to respect me? To . . .

  Love me?

  And what about the rest of the empire? Commoners, warriors, nobility . . . If I survived the Underworld, I would rule them alongside Dayo. Sanjeet had said that I was popular among commoners, and respected by the Imperial Guard. But surely there would be pushback, and the nobility had no reason to trust me at all. What if no one wanted the daughter of an ehru and a traitor, an empress-turned-Redemptor?

  My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten since leaving Woo In on Sagimsan Mountain, and whatever Melu had done to rejuvenate me had worn off. Perhaps there was food left in the banquet chamber. I slipped out of Sanjeet’s arms and padded barefoot from the Hall of Dreams.

  I jumped—Imperial Guard warriors lined the corridor. What were they doing here? It was only the Children’s Palace . . . Oh. Right.

  They were guarding Dayo, the emperor of Aritsar. And me. The Empress Redemptor.

  “Can I help you, Your Imperial Majesty?” one of the female guards intoned, stepping forward. Her head was shaved and her features were vaguely familiar.

  “I haven’t eaten,” I said groggily. “It’s all right, don’t wake the cooks. I’ll just—” The guard’s gaze locked on mine, and I froze.

  She was Oluwani, with ordinary dark brown features. But her face had changed just for a moment, a mask dropped, revealing a tawny face with green eyes. Then it returned to normal.

  “Are you sure,” the guard said, “that there’s nothing I can do for you?”

  “Banquet chamber,” I whispered. She bowed smoothly and led the way.

  The Children’s Palace banquet chamber was as I remembered it: a mosaic-tiled floor and long kneeling tables with tasseled seat cushions. The servants had cleared most of the night’s feast away, but baskets of kola nuts and oranges already lined the tables for breakfast.

  “What do you want, Kathleen?” I asked the guard, taking a piece of fruit and peeling it with trembling hands.

  “It’s not about what I want,” she snapped, dropping the illusion to reveal her true face. As in the disguise, her scalp was bare; she had shaved her head in mourning. Her voice broke with repressed tears. “It’s about what you owe her.”

  Then she held out a burning oil lamp and a scrap of paper. I recognized my mother’s script on the calfskin: a page from one of her journals. The hair on my neck rose as I realized what Kathleen wanted.

  “No,” I said, dropping my peeled orange and backing away.

  “She was your mother,” Kathleen spat. “And she’s dead! Murdered! Don’t you care?”

  “Of course I care,” I shot back. “But there’s nothing I can do. And don’t you dare say I owe her. I’m not like you. I didn’t swear my life to her service; I didn’t choose any of this.”

  For a moment, Kathleen looked as though she might strike me. Then she inhaled, her voice measured with desperation. “Shades can only come back once. The rest of us—her Anointed Ones—we’ve all tried to summon her. To say goodbye, to make sure she’s all right. But she won’t come. She’s waiting for you.”

  I swallowed, staring hard at the mirrored ceiling, my reflection murky in the shadows. Then before I could change my mind, I accepted the oil lamp. I held The Lady’s journal page to the flames, completing the summoning ritual.<
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  The air went cold.

  I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, The Lady stood in the center of the banquet hall. Shadows draped her translucent form like a floor-length mantle. I fought a giddy, unnatural urge to laugh—even in death, my mother managed to look like an empress.

  Kathleen burst into tears and ran to her, thrusting her arms around The Lady’s shrouded figure.

  The Lady embraced her, stroking her shaved head and kissing her cheek. Then she whispered in her ear. Kathleen glanced reproachfully at me, but nodded, and left me alone with my mother.

  “Hello,” I managed eventually.

  The Lady ignored me, turning to pace the chamber. Again I fought a manic urge to laugh. Some things never changed.

  “The last time I was in this room,” she murmured, running her ghostly fingers over the baskets and centerpieces, “my brother flipped over the tables. That was the night he banished me. When I showed the world who I was.

  “What happened to you after Woo In took me away?” I asked. “What was it like when . . . ?”

  “When I died?” Her voice was calm, and she faced me at last. Her serene expression shifted, as if recalling a deeply repressed memory. “Your friends . . . They bought me time. Yes. The Blessid girl sang to slow my heart, while that Dhyrmish lover of yours carried me to the palace infirmary. The Kunleo boy ordered the healers to give me an antidote. It was too late, of course.” She paused. “I . . . did not anticipate that Ekundayo would try to save me. I tried to kill him, after all. But he ordered healers to my bedside. Simply because he knew you would mourn me. Olugbade was not so noble. But sometimes, I have learned, the fruit is unlike the tree.”

  It was the closest she would ever come to apologizing for hurting Dayo. I sighed and asked, “Are you in pain? The stories about the Underworld—Egungun’s Parade, and the paradise at the earth’s Core . . . are they true?”

  And for the first time in my life, my mother looked afraid.