by Rena Barron
I miss my father. I need him here with me. I need him to tell me everything will be okay. The entire time he waited to board the ship for the Aloo Valley, I pushed down tears.
“Don’t worry, Little Priestess,” he said with a big smile. “I will be back before long.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” I begged, my voice raw. “What if something happens while you’re gone?” What if the demon comes after me.
“Rely on your mother.” Oshhe squeezed my shoulder. “I know that she is difficult, but she loves you no less.”
I turned away, a bitter taste in my mouth. Difficult was putting it kindly.
My father gently tugged my chin until I faced him again. “She is not as invincible as she pretends to be; she hurts too. More than you know.”
I startle from the memory as Terra sweeps into my room for morning ablutions. She chats about the latest gossip from the market but avoids the topic of the missing children.
I skip my morning lessons with the scribes again to check on Kofi—and meet up with Rudjek in the East Market. He’s been skipping his private lessons too. Even with his griping that Kofi is a little con artist, Rudjek doesn’t hesitate to help with the watch. And I know that underneath the teasing, Kofi likes him too. I once came upon him defending both Rudjek and me to a group of older children. He had tears in his eyes when they told him that we were only his friends because we pitied him.
After I shooed the children away, he asked me if it was true. It hurt that he didn’t know the answer, but I understood. I told him the truth: I was his friend because, like him, I knew what it felt like to not quite fit in at home. And Rudjek was his friend because he thought that Kofi was brave and liked to hear his stories. That was true too.
Even with fear and so much uncertainty in Tamar, the market is thick with people. Smoke from the firepits chokes the air and waters my eyes. Citizens argue with the gray-clad City Guard about the missing children. People say the child snatcher is hiding in the underbelly of the city. No one is quite sure where, so they argue about that too. I push through the throng. When I come upon the place where Kofi and his father usually stake their booth, another merchant is there.
“Can I interest you in a reading?” A slight woman in a dirty shift steps into my path and thrusts a bowl in my face. The woman has strange pale eyes, and long, loose braids frame her dark skin. “For only three copper coins, I’ll tell your future.”
I give her an apologetic look and turn back to the merchant who shouldn’t be here. “Excuse me.” I push to the front of the merchant’s line. Her patrons grumble and curse under their breath at me. “Where’s the regular fish merchant who sets up here?”
“Wait your turn, missy.” The woman clucks her tongue, her teeth rimmed in gold. “There’s enough of my famous cured whale fat for everyone. It’s still early yet.”
I repeat myself, louder this time, and the woman shrugs. “I don’t know about no fish merchant and his son. This is a first-come, first-served market. The spot was empty, so I took it.”
My heart slams against my chest as I back away from her booth. Kofi and his father were on this corner yesterday selling fresh catfish and tilapia. It’s their favorite spot.
I chew on my lip, searching for them. My gaze flits from face to face. Not him. Not him. Not him. Where is he? The market’s endless parade of people passes before my eyes.
I ask the merchants nearby if they’ve seen Kofi’s father, but they brush off my questions and suggest I buy their wares. I have half a mind to tell the greedy swine where to shove their trinkets, but I slip back into the throng to keep looking.
It would be so much easier if I had magic. I could use a charm that would map a path to Kofi on a scroll instead of relying on hearsay. I swallow, but it does nothing to quell the frustration seething inside me. My whole body shakes with it.
“Arrah!” I hear Rudjek call, and turn to see him cutting a path to me. “Wait up.”
Majka and Kira shove through the crowd. With their red gendar uniforms, no one dares push back. I take a sharp breath of relief. The three of them can help me look.
“I can’t find Kofi or his father’s booth.” I peer over Rudjek’s shoulder, still searching. “Have you seen him?”
Rudjek grabs my arm, his face grim. I don’t like that look; I don’t like it at all.
“He’s gone, Arrah.” Rudjek shakes his head. “Last night . . .”
“No!” I pull away from him. “He’s around here somewhere.”
A Familiar slips between my feet and I startle. Familiars had swarmed around Kofi four days ago in the market. Too many to count. He promised me he’d be careful. He promised.
Rudjek closes the space between us. His scent of lilac and wood smoke is both soothing and suffocating right now. “I’m sorry, Arrah.” His words cut through me. “The gendar on duty last night stepped away for just a moment and when he came back, Kofi was . . . gone.”
“What do you mean gone?” My mind reels, not quite absorbing what he’s saying.
The noise in the crowd rings in my ears. It’s not too late. It can’t be.
“I’m going to find Kofi,” I tell him, my decision made.
Rudjek rests his hands on the hilts of his shotels and shifts from heel to heel. “Arrah, what do you mean . . .”
I can’t stand to meet his eye. “There’s a way.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.” He frowns. “What way?”
When I don’t answer, Rudjek bites back his next question. He follows me to the part of the market the charlatans frequent. We find two dozen of them selling protection charms—some silver, some gold, some bone. Amulets with Kiva, Re’Mec, Koré, and other orishas. People line up to buy them and push and shove to get the one they want. I cringe at the sight of the desperate skirmishes. Some of the charlatans are mere con artists who knowingly sell fake charms.
It’s not long before I spot the charlatan who offered to sell Rudjek a protection charm. “Give me a moment.”
“Only if you promise you’ll tell me what’s going on.” Rudjek draws his mouth into a hard line to let me know he means it.
“I will,” I assure him as Kira and Majka catch up.
At that, I leave him and push through the charlatan’s line. “Can we talk?” I shout over the commotion. He’s showing a woman two sachets of herbs; one, he says, will ward off bad luck and the other will bring good luck. The woman can’t decide which is better.
The man raises an eyebrow when I speak out of turn. It isn’t my imagination that his face is more gaunt and his hair not only whiter—but thinner. His cataracts have grown worse too. “The Ka-Priestess’s daughter.” He dips his head. “Can I offer another coin to the Temple since you refused the last?”
“I need to speak to you on another matter.” Heat flushes up my back, and I swear that the other patrons have stopped their business to watch me beg for help. “A private matter.”
The man smiles, the look on his face smug. He knows what I want. It’s a mistake to come here, but what choice do I have? There’s no reason to believe that it’ll work. My grandmother and Arti are both talented seers, but most of all, the demon appeared in a vision about me. That has to be something I can use to find Kofi and the other children. I have to try.
“Of course,” he mumbles, his voice slick. Then he speaks loud enough so that others might hear him. “I’m always in service of the Temple.”
Once he excuses himself from his patrons, we step into an alley to talk in private. From the corner of my eye, I can see Rudjek pacing back and forth at the mouth of the alley, out of earshot. Kira and Majka stand guard with their hands on their weapons.
“What can I do for the daughter of the greatest seer the Kingdom has ever seen?” he asks with so much spite that it curdles in my belly. “Surely I can’t be of any help to you.”
“I need . . . I need.” I’m hardly able to get the words out. I look around again to make sure no one else can hear my request. My parents would b
e so ashamed of me right now. I’m ashamed of myself. “I need to know the secret to trading years for magic.”
The man’s smile widens into a full grin, and I bite back my shame. This is for Kofi.
“I’ll pay for it.” I fumble for my coin purse. “How much?”
“For you . . .” His sly cataract-clouded eyes find my gaze again. “It’s free.”
He adjusts the sachet across his shoulder and lifts the flap. Inside, there’s a mess of bottles, trinkets, herbs, charms, and papyrus scrolls. Squinting, he sifts through them, until he finally hands me a scroll sealed with red twine. “You only have to do the ritual once to create the bridge for magic to come to you,” he explains. “After that, every ritual will take your years, so use it with care.”
I swallow the bile at the back of my throat, my belly filling with anguish. I hadn’t known or considered the full consequences of trading years. This was something my father didn’t tell me when we talked about the price of magic. If I create the bridge, then am I giving up on ever coming into my own magic? Every ritual I perform will draw from this horror bargain.
I stare down at the scroll, my hands shaking. If this isn’t something that I can take back, can I live with it? Can I live with knowing that I traded away my last chance at having gifts of my own?
I want to ask if there’s a way to burn the bridge—to disconnect it after one ritual, but I bite my tongue. It doesn’t matter if there’s a way. I made a promise to Kofi and I intend to keep it. If the bridge is for life, then it’s up to me to resist the temptation to use it again.
“Don’t make this decision lightly, child,” the man warns, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I thank him and cram the scroll into my pocket. When I turn to leave, he adds, his voice cheerful, “Next time you see one of us in the market, do try not to look down your nose.”
If there was ever a time I wished I could disappear into thin air, it’s now. I’ve never had much to do with any of the charlatans—not the ones who dare call themselves witchdoctors. It’s a prestigious title they haven’t earned, a title that I always thought was my birthright. But I haven’t earned it either and never will. I still don’t wholly agree with trading years, but who am I to judge these people now? “I’m sorry.” I bite my lip. “I’ll do better.”
I don’t so much as walk out of the alley as flee, sweat pouring down my back, struggling to catch my breath. Rudjek steps in my path and snaps me out of my panic. He frowns, his face riddled with concern. I can’t imagine how wild-eyed I must look to him right now. Can he see the fear in my expression? Can he feel it radiating from my bones?
“Tell me,” he demands, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.
I brush his concern off with a wave. “He’s given me a special ritual.”
“A ritual.” Rudjek pales and the veins in his face stand out like his mother’s. His hands go limp against the hilts of his shotels. “Twenty-gods, Arrah,” he says, his voice low. “Tell me that it isn’t what I think. I know the rumors about the charlatans . . . what they do for magic.”
It’s exactly what he thinks.
I will trade my years for magic to find Kofi and stop the child snatcher.
Eleven
On our way to my father’s shop in the West Market, the eye of Re’Mec emerges from behind the clouds. It knocks some of the chill from the air. But even under Re’Mec’s favor, Familiars still flock to the streets like flies.
As we cross the merchants’ row houses that separate the two markets, the ground turns from packed dirt to polished cobblestones. Gray walls replace the vibrant colors. Scribes and scholars hurry about their business flanked by hired guards. The chaos of the East Market hasn’t reached here, but it stirs beneath the surface, waiting to breach. Kira and Majka hang back to give us space to talk.
Rudjek steps in front of me to block my path. “You haven’t answered my question. What kind of ritual is this, Arrah? How can you perform one without magic?”
I want to tell him, but he’ll try to convince me not to do it. “Can you just trust me?”
“Funny you should ask,” he shoots back, glaring at me. “I would say the same.”
I raise my chin and meet his midnight eyes. “My father suspected a link between the green-eyed serpent and the child snatcher. Since the seers have given up, and the serpent was in a vision about me—I hope that I can use that connection to find Kofi. The ritual that the charlatan gave me should help.” I cross my arms, waiting for him to argue. “So now you know.”
“It shouldn’t be your place to do something so dangerous,” Rudjek counters, his face stark from the news. “If the seers can do nothing, they should call upon their masters. The whole city tithes to the Temple, so the least the seers can do . . . the least the orishas can do is help for once.”
People eavesdrop on our conversation—not even trying to hide it. I hiss at them, and the gossips scurry across the cobblestones like the rats they are. “I don’t have any love for the orishas.” He pauses, shifting his hands to his hips. “You saw what their barbaric Rite of Passage did to my brothers.” His voice cracks open, each word laced with his pain and sorrow for what became of Jemi and Uran. One sent away in disgrace—the other living out his life under watchful guard. “But if this child snatcher is stronger than the seers, then the orishas are our only hope.”
He palms the craven pendant around his neck, stroking the bone like it’s a soothing song. His pain isn’t only for his brothers; it’s for himself too. His father expects him to measure up to a legacy never meant for him. My heart aches, and I wish there was something I could say to make it better. I know the burden of not living up to a parent’s expectations all too well, but I need him to understand that what I do next is my choice.
“I can’t stand by while this monster steals children,” I say, my voice quiet. “I couldn’t live with knowing that I could’ve done something to save Kofi, and I didn’t try.”
“You’re right. We can’t stand by and do nothing, but . . .” His eyes are shiny black lakes of endless depth, reflecting hope and despair and something deeper, something warmer. A fire kindling. “You . . . you and Majka and Kira are my best friends. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”
“I’ll be careful.” I try to reassure him.
His eyebrows lift. “Can I stay with you?”
“You’re allergic to my father’s shop, remember?” I hide my own despair now, not knowing what other nasty surprises I’ll find when I read the scroll. And I want to do this alone, in case I fail again. “It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to come.”
“He could stand to dust more often”—Rudjek waves for his friends—“but I’ll manage.”
If only Majka and Kira would drag him off to another one of his father’s council meetings, then I could go in peace.
“I don’t know what you’re up to now,” Kira juts up her chin when they catch up with us, “but I’m not going to like it, am I?”
Majka crosses his arms, grim-faced. “Whatever favor you’re about to ask, Rudjek, the answer is no. The Vizier’s in a foul mood and I’d rather not incur his wrath.”
Rudjek gestures with his hand. “It’s only a small favor.”
“No.” Kira grimaces. “For once, Majka’s right.”
“Come now, we’re all friends here.” He flashes Kira a winning smile. “I wouldn’t be asking for a favor if it wasn’t important.”
Majka points at me. “Arrah we trust.” Then he narrows his eyes at Rudjek. “You, we absolutely don’t.”
The bell tower looms over the West Market, taunting, as the hour approaches midday. I have no idea how much time the ritual will take. It could be anywhere from mere moments to days. I don’t have days. Neither does Kofi. But I have to believe he and the other children are safe for now—the alternative is unthinkable.
“You wound me.” Rudjek grabs his chest. “I’m very trustworthy.”
“Trustworthy?” Kira shakes her head. “A few days ago you
snuck out of your rooms at night.”
“Got accosted by some thieves on the docks,” Majka chimes in.
“Lost a game of jackals and hounds and couldn’t pay up.” Kira taps her foot.
“Got yourself a black eye,” adds Majka.
That explains Rudjek’s bruises at the assembly, which he implied were from the arena. I give him a look sharp enough to cut and he ducks his head.
“Didn’t they threaten to cut off your jewels?” Kira finishes.
Rudjek stands with his hands on his hips, staring at his friends with his mouth open. “You’re one to talk, Majka. It was your idea to sneak to the docks. And Kira, you threw the first punch.”
Majka’s brown eyes shine with feigned innocence. “We’re your attendants. Not the other way around. If you decide to go to the docks for a little fun, well then, we don’t have a choice but to follow you.”
“You three are all insufferable,” I cut in, or else they’ll argue for a solid bell. A little banter between them usually lightens my mood, but right now I’m anxious to get going.
“So back to that favor . . .” Rudjek clears his throat. “We need some time alone.”
Majka’s eyebrows raise. I don’t know who blushes harder, Rudjek or me.
“Don’t be absurd,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s nothing like that.”
Majka sighs. “And here I thought you two would finally—”
“Shut it, Majka,” Rudjek grumbles under his breath.
“Need I remind you,” Kira says as she casts a scathing look at Rudjek, “you have afternoon lessons.” Then she turns to me. “As do you.”
My scribes aren’t going to report me to Arti for skipping. They’re afraid of her. “Yes, I know, Mother Kira.” She can’t help herself, I guess, being the daughter of Guildmaster Ny, the head scribe. Though I can’t imagine her donning a scribe’s tunic over all her shiny knives.
“Slip them a silver coin for me.” Rudjek winks at Majka. “It won’t be the first.”
As the midday bells toll, I rock back on my heels. I can’t fathom what the ritual will entail or what else I’ll be giving up to make the bargain. I wipe away a string of sweat from my brow, trying to push down my doubts. “We’ll be at my father’s shop.” I speak before either Kira or Majka can argue some more. I don’t want Rudjek to come, but it’s the only way to end this conversation. “You can drag him from there if you must.”
