Kingdom of Souls

‘Yes, you’re right.’ I sigh. ‘I can do that after my lessons with the scribes.’

I mean after I see Rudjek. I wrote him a letter before we reached the city and gave it to Terra to deliver. If all goes well, he’ll meet me after my lessons in our secret place by the river.

When I turn to face Ty, she holds up a flowing teal sheath. It’s breathtaking, the way the sun catches on the beads and gathers on the fine silk. Essnai and her mother gave it to me on my last birth day. Ty may not usually help with my clothes, but she should know the sheath is too formal for lessons with the scribes.

‘I don’t think that’s quite appropriate,’ I say, heading to the armoire. I dig through piles of folded clothes and pull out my sea-blue tunic and matching trousers. Ty shakes her head and lays the sheath on the bed alongside a beaded belt and jewelled slippers.

Before I can protest again, my mother sweeps into my room, her gold Ka-Priestess’s kaftan rustling in her wake. The space between us feels too small and I cringe, as if caught doing something wrong. The morning light glows against her honey-golden skin, and her amber eyes shine like rare gemstones. When Oshhe and I got back last night, Arti was at the Almighty Temple. The seers sometimes hold vigils for days, so it’s never a surprise if she’s not home. I’ve always counted myself lucky then. It’s easier to avoid her.

My mother is the definition of beauty. Her ebony hair flows down her back in loose curls, threaded through with pale crystals. She bears Tribe Mulani’s softness and curves and small stature compared to the Aatiri. I am somewhere in the middle, taller than my mother, but much shorter than my very tall cousins. Although the resemblance between us is unmistakable, next to her, I might as well be a squat mule.

She never comes to visit me here. I can’t guess the meaning of this – unless she’s talked to my father already, and she knows.

Arti peers around the room, examining its condition, before her eyes land on Ty. The two women exchange a look – one of understanding that I’ve seen shared between them many times before.

Ty has never spoken to me, nor to anyone for that matter. I’ve heard her mumbling in the kitchen when she’s alone, but she stops as soon as someone else comes near. I don’t know why she doesn’t talk. My childhood questions about it always went unanswered. No different from Grandmother hesitating to answer my questions about the green-eyed serpent.

‘You may leave us, Ty,’ Arti says, tilting her head to show respect.

When Ty is gone, Arti’s sharp amber eyes fall upon me. ‘I trust that you’re well.’

‘I am, Mother,’ I say, resisting the urge to glance away. ‘Thank you for asking.’

‘Your father told me what happened at the Blood Moon Festival.’ Her attention shifts to the altar, and she wrinkles her nose. I can’t tell if she disapproves of the mix of tribal trinkets or the dust. ‘It’s time to let go of this foolish dream of having magic. Mulani show their gifts at a very young age. If it hasn’t happened by now, it won’t happen at all.’

My mother speaks in a matter-of-fact tone that sets my teeth on edge. She might as well be talking to a stranger on the street. Her words sting in my chest and leave me speechless.

She brushes her hand across the sheath. The luminous pearl of her Ka-Priestess’s ring shimmers in the sunlight. As her hand glides over the fabric, the colour of the pearl changes from onyx to slate to cyan. ‘It’s a shame to come from two powerful bloodlines and have no magic at all. No Mulani in my family has ever been without. But there is nothing to be done about it.’

‘There’s still a chance.’ My words come out feeble and desperate.

‘What makes you think so?’ Arti says in a voice devoid of any emotion. ‘This year the Aatiri chieftain positioned you directly in Heka’s path, and he didn’t see fit to give you magic. It was a bold gesture, and commendable, but has anything changed?’

Warmth creeps up my neck at the slight. She very well knows the answer, but she wants me to say it. ‘Grandmother had a vision,’ I say, rallying my nerves. ‘A demon could be blocking my magic.’ That wasn’t exactly what Grandmother saw, but it’s the most plausible reason for my magic not showing.

‘I do wish your grandmother would stop giving you false hope,’ Arti says after a deep sigh. ‘And this talk about demons?’ She laughs. ‘That’s the stuff of old wives’ tales, Arrah. They’ve been gone for five thousand years, and if they were back, what would one want with you? A girl without magic.’

Her words are a well-honed slap to the face – yet another reminder how much of a disappointment I am to her. What can I say? How can I fight back, when she’ll have an answer for everything? I believe Grandmother, but it’s not worth arguing. There’s no winning with my mother – no convincing her of anything other than what she chooses to believe.

‘I know that magic is important to you, daughter,’ Arti says, her words softer. ‘But don’t be so obsessed that you’d do something foolish for a taste of it.’

I bite my tongue as fire spreads through my belly. She’s eyeing the bone charm on the altar now. Does my mother think I would stoop so low, that I would consider trading my years for magic? Yes, I want it, but I’m not a fool. I’m not that desperate either. My mind falls on the night of Imebyé and the woman writhing in the sand. That was her choice. There are moments in your life that leave lasting impressions. The woman’s sallow skin and rotten teeth, the way magic came to her, the way it was destroying her – every detail has stayed with me over the years.

I didn’t know at the time what she’d done, but my father explained it to me after we returned home. In his shop one day, I asked if the charlatans in the market were like the woman in the desert. The ones who looked like they had one foot in life and the other in death. He said that some tribal people without magic had learned how to trade years of their lives to possess it. Upon finding this out, I bounced on the balls of my feet with excitement, because it meant I could have magic too. Oshhe squeezed my cheeks between his big hands. ‘No magic is worth your life, Little Priestess. That is not our way.’

He stared into my eyes, his expression so serious and grave that the excitement fled as fast as it had come. ‘Promise me you’ll never do anything like that, no matter what.’ His deep voice echoed in his shop. ‘Promise me, daughter.’

‘But why, Father?’ I said, jutting out my bottom lip.

My father sighed, his patience waning. ‘When you barter your years for magic, it takes of you what it will. It does not matter the complexity of the ritual, spell, or charm. There’s no way to tell until it’s too late. Even I cannot reverse the damage that comes from such foolishness.’

Magic has a price if you’re willing to pay.

I, in fact, am not willing to pay. If I can’t have magic gifted to me, I’ll do without. I still have my pride, and that means something. I lift my chin and face Arti.

‘Is there a reason you’ve come to see me this fine morning, Mother?’ I say, my jaw set. ‘I need to get ready for my lessons.’

Arti glances up at that, her face impassive. It’s a wonder my parents ended up together. Oshhe is full of stories and laughter while my mother is sharp-tongued and efficient. I have to believe that once she was warmer, long before she became the third-most powerful person in the Kingdom.

‘Suran plans to name his youngest son his heir at the assembly today.’ Arti folds her arms behind her back and begins to pace. ‘Not that he has much choice, since the other two are an embarrassment to the so-called Omari legacy.’

I clutch the tunic against my chest as if it can protect me from the animosity in her voice. It’s no secret that the Vizier and my mother hate each other. ‘Is that so?’ I say, forcing my voice to sound bored and uninterested.

The Vizier is the right hand of the Almighty One. He governs the Kingdom. As head of the Almighty Temple, my mother is the voice of the orishas. It’s said that Re’Mec himself visits the seers on occasion – when the mood strikes – but Arti never speaks of it. Because the seers come from the tribes, she also oversees trade with the tribal lands. Relations with all other countries, such as Estheria, Yöom, and the North, fall under the Vizier’s domain.

‘Two can play Suran’s game,’ Arti says. ‘You will attend the assembly with me.’

‘But why?’ I swallow the bitter taste on my tongue. It goes without saying that I have no place or reason to be there. I’ve never dreamed of being Ka-Priestess one day. Even so, it hurts knowing that without magic I’d never even be considered.

The Almighty One hand-picks the Vizier and Ka-Priestess. The title of Vizier always falls to an Omari, close cousins of the royal family. As for the Ka-Priest or Ka-Priestess, the Almighty One chooses the most powerful of the seers. It’s a small mercy that my mother’s position isn’t a birthright, or I’d be an embarrassing end to our family legacy. ‘We will make a statement of our own,’ Arti says on her way out. ‘Be ready at half bell to ten.’

‘But …’ I protest.

My mother pauses in the doorway with her back to me. ‘Did you say something, Arrah?’

What’s one more slight to add to a treasure trove of them? ‘No, Mother.’

Once a month, the leaders of the Kingdom meet to debate taxes and tariffs and new decrees. The Almighty One and his two sons, Crown Prince Darnek and his younger brother, Tyrek, the Vizier and his four guildmasters, and my mother with the four other seers from the Temple. When I go to the assembly with Essnai and Sukar, it’s fun, but I dread attending with my mother.

With Arti gone, I slip into the sheath, admiring the splash of bright beads that run from the neckline to the hem. It’s fitted through the hips, flaring just below my knees. I loop the belt low around my waist and toe on the sandals. Although it’s quite pretty, I prefer my trousers. They have pockets.

While I’m adjusting the sheath in the mirror, Terra strolls into my room with a jewelled box tucked under her arm. She smiles, her freckles standing out against her tan skin. She looks regal with her golden hair done up in braids. It’s nice to have someone my age in the villa. There’s never a dull moment with her. She collects gossip like some people collect figurines.

‘I bet Ty gave you a scare,’ Terra says, her voice bright and musical.

‘You could’ve warned me,’ I grumble. ‘She was in a mood this morning.’

At that, Terra descends upon me with a little too much gleam in her eyes, like I’m a plaything to mould to her wishes. She massages oil into my scalp before twisting my braids into an elaborate crown with strings of pearls woven between the strands. While I can’t deny it’s beautiful, it’s also very heavy. Terra spends what feels like forever powdering my face in shades of golds and silvers. When she’s done, she grins at her handiwork and rushes me outside. Nezi has already opened the gate, and the litter waits in front of it. Eight men stand with their eyes downcast, the sun glistening off their brown skin.

The red curtains are half-drawn, and my mother waits inside. I swallow hard and join her. The compartment is cool and smells of wood polish laced with her sweet perfume. We sit facing each other, but Arti doesn’t see me. Her eyes are vacant as she stares into a corner. She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t stir when Nezi commands the labourers to proceed.

‘Get going now,’ our porter yells, ‘and take care with them.’ There’s a subtle ‘or else’ in Nezi’s voice, a warning. I wouldn’t put it past her, if an accident were to befall us, to personally seek retribution.

The men lift on three, and we’re on our way. Our villa sits on the north edge of the district, among other fine estates owned by families of import in Tamar. I steal glimpses of the city between the curtains, soaking in the bright colours. We travel down back roads to avoid the crowds of the West Market. Most people will go about their regular business today. It’s only those with influence that attend the assembly. My father never comes, citing his allergy to politics.

After a long silence between us, Arti says, voice low and calculating, ‘When we arrive, follow my lead. Do not speak, do not smile, do not sit until after I’ve taken my place on the first tier. Do you understand?’

I startle at the sudden fire in her words.

‘Yes,’ I say, knitting my fingers together.

Long before we reach the coliseum, we hear the roar of the crowd. Towering orisha statues stand in a row guarding the most prominent families of the city. Soon the crowd is as thick as bees, as scholars, scribes, and heads of families clamber into the coliseum. The building is a honeycomb-shaped mammoth with doors large enough to accommodate giants. When people see our litter, they slink to the side, the labourers never slowing.

Tenth morning bells strike when we are mere moments from entering the dome, which means we’re late. There’s no mistaking that my mother’s up to something.

She’s got a scheme brewing in her eyes.

CHAPTER 5

A gong echoes in the West Market, marking the start of the assembly. If my mother’s even a bit mad about being late, she hides it well. The look of disinterest never slips from her face.

The crowd on the streets hushes and the Vizier’s words fill the silence.

‘You honour us with your presence, Almighty One, Crown Prince Darnek, and Second Son Tyrek.’ His voice blasts in the West Market. ‘May your wisdom guide our hearts and minds. May our orisha lords look upon the Kingdom favourably for as long as your great family reigns.’

The Vizier pauses a heartbeat. ‘If the public will allow me a small indulgence, I would like my son, Rudjek Omari, to join me on the first tier.’

My stomach sinks. I hope Rudjek isn’t as caught off guard as I was this morning. In the new silence, I imagine him weaving through people and climbing the steps to reach his father.

I hold my breath as we draw closer to the coliseum. I expect the labourers to stop at the giant doors, but they rush us straight into the heart of the assembly. The crowd gasps, drowning out the Vizier’s next words. When the labourers set the litter down, Arti gives me a meaningful glance. Follow my lead, or else.

As she descends from the litter, her head held high, triumph flashes in her amber eyes. The pieces fall into place. She wanted to be late so that she could interrupt the Vizier as he introduced Rudjek as his heir.

The voices fall silent upon seeing the Ka-Priestess. I follow my mother, resisting the urge to shrink beneath hundreds of stares. The Vizier stands on the first tier of the raised platform, shiny shotels sheathed on either side of his waist. His swords look like they belong in a museum, not like they’ve ever seen a day of battle.

My eyes find Rudjek, and when his dark gaze meets mine, my stomach flutters. I hold back a smile. He stands beside his father, clad in a purple elara to the Vizier’s white and gold. The handles of his half-moon swords are dull and well-worn. His face is angular and lean, and recently met with a sharp razor. There’s a shadow of a bruise under his right eye, no doubt from a fight in the arena. I should’ve known he couldn’t stay out of trouble while I was gone.

He doesn’t have his father’s rich brown skin, but they share the same lush eyebrows and chiselled jawline. His colouring is between his father’s shade and his Northern mother’s paler, diaphanous skin. His hair is a mess of tangled black curls. I soak up everything about his face, as if we haven’t seen each other in ages when it’s been mere weeks.

He and his father both wear a craven-bone crest pinned to their collar, a mark of their family’s importance. It signals their rank above all others in the Kingdom, except for the royal family. While the Omaris’ crest is a lion’s head, the royal family’s – the Sukkaras’ – ram is a symbol of their blood connection to the sun orisha, Re’Mec. There are others in the audience with crests that show their rank or position. And many more royal cousins proudly displaying their crests too.

‘Don’t let me interrupt,’ Arti says, her sweet voice echoing in the coliseum. Behind us the labourers take away the empty litter with practised stealth. ‘By all means continue.’

‘Ka-Priestess,’ the Vizier spits out her title. ‘I’m glad you were gracious enough to join us. Although the assembly starts at tenth morning bells, in case you’ve forgotten.’

Arti looks up to the second tier, which sits high above the first. The Almighty One and his sons lounge in velvety thrones with an attendant at each of their sides.

‘My apologies, Almighty One, for my tardiness,’ Arti says, casting her glance to the floor. ‘I am late for reasons that will become apparent during the assembly.’

The Almighty One leans forward on his throne, his eyes combing the length of her body, then says, ‘Begin.’

While the Vizier’s attention is on the Almighty One, Rudjek seizes his opportunity. He’s halfway down the stairs before his father even notices. He returns to his empty seat, while I’m stuck counting down the moments until I can do the same.

The crowd perches on benches facing each other that stretch up around the curved rotunda. Some sit so high that shadows shroud their faces. There’s two thousand of the most influential people in Tamar here. People with an interest in the outcome of political decisions. They’re as polished as the quarry stone that makes up the round building. And they glow too, for the mosaic ceiling casts a prism of colours upon them. My sheath pales in comparison to the beaded kabas and jewelled headwraps worn by some of the women. Not to be outdone, the men dress in fancy agbadas, elaras, or the latest imported fashion.

The platform where the assembly meets is a two-tiered crescent moon. On the right of the first tier is a curved table and high-backed chairs for the Vizier and his four guildmasters. On the left, Arti and her seers sit in an identical arrangement. A spiral staircase leads up to the second tier. It’s more for show than anything else. There’s a pulley concealed behind a curtain that lifts each of the royals up to their private booth.

When Arti finally takes her place, I look for a seat. Sukar waves to get my attention. He and Essnai are sitting across from Rudjek, on the opposite side of the coliseum. Two blue-robed scribes look put out when I squeeze between my friends, forcing them to move over.

‘Uncle said the Ka-Priestess was up to something,’ Sukar whispers, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. ‘I didn’t think it was this. Interrupting the Vizier in his moment of glory … well played.’

‘Bring forth the first order of business.’ The Vizier barks the command to the courtier standing at the edge of the first tier. The man steps forward and clears his throat as he unties a scroll that reaches to his knees. He begins reading a summary of today’s agenda. Taxes, tithes, plans for a new public building, and another million mundane things that buzz in my ears. I’m starting to think that like my father, I’m allergic to politics.

‘Does he have to stare like that?’ Sukar whispers. ‘He looks like a lost puppy.’

I don’t ask who. I know who. Instead of listening to his father and my mother bickering, Rudjek is fanning himself with my letter. There’s an expertly drawn donkey on the front – he knows the reason why. He grins at me and starts flourishing his hand in bolder strokes. I have a sudden urge to poke my tongue out at him but think better of it.

High above us, the Almighty One carries on a hushed conversation with Crown Prince Darnek. The only royal who seems interested in the proceedings is Second Son Tyrek. He’s the same age as me, two years younger than his brother. He leans forward on his throne and follows the debate. But the Almighty One is never called upon to vote unless there is a tie, and today there are none.

I spend the entire assembly counting down the time to freedom. After two solid hours of debating and voting, the Vizier turns to the audience. ‘Does the public have any concerns to bring forth today?’

In the few times I’ve been in attendance, no one in the audience has brought an issue for debate. People seem content to sit and listen to the squabbles between the Guild and the Temple instead. I sit up straight, itching for him to adjourn the assembly. From the bored looks around me, I’m not the only one.

‘With no further concerns,’ the Vizier says, ‘I hereby close—’

‘I’d like to raise a concern that we have overlooked,’ Arti says from her perch among the seers. Her kaftan shines the richest gold while the other seers’ kaftans are pale yellow. The striking contrast leaves no doubt that she, and she alone, is the voice of the Almighty Temple. Much the same as Rudjek’s father in his pristine white and gold elara. In all the Kingdom, only the Vizier wears white silks. His guildmasters wear a variety of colours. The Master of Arms, Rudjek’s aunt. The Master of Scribes, the Master of Scholars, the Master of Labourers. Half of whom look utterly disinterested in the proceedings.

‘By all means, speak,’ the Vizier says. ‘We hope it’s not to ask for yet another increase in tithes for the Temple. Please have mercy on our pocketbooks.’

Nervous laughter rumbles through the coliseum, and people cast curious glances at each other. Even the guildmasters crack smiles.

The seers do not. Each of them wears a grim expression.

‘There is a matter of grave importance.’ Arti rises from her chair. Her face is even grimmer than the other seers’, and my pulse quickens. Nothing ever gets under my mother’s skin. If she’s worried, then it must be something bad. The room quietens as she glides to the centre of the tier, and the Vizier huffs before yielding the floor to her. He whisks back to his seat, irritation etched on his face. ‘It pains me to say that a number of children have disappeared under the City Guard’ watch.’ Arti pauses, her voice breaking. ‘Some from the orphanage, some not.’

The audience turns to one another in collective whispers. I glance at Sukar, who shakes his head, and then at Essnai, who mouths, her voice low, ‘Did you know about this?’

‘No,’ I say under my breath. I’m as shocked as everyone else, and don’t understand why my mother waited this long to share such important news. It should’ve been first on the agenda.

‘I’ve heard of no such report,’ the Vizier says, his brows creasing into a deep frown.

‘While praying to the orishas on our recent vigil,’ Arti says, addressing the audience, ‘I saw something very disturbing. When I commune with the orishas, my ka wanders our great city, and our lords reveal things to me in strange ways.’

I glance up at the Almighty One’s booth again. Second Son Tyrek leans over to get his father’s attention, but the Almighty One waves him off. He’s busy laughing at something Crown Prince Darnek just whispered in his other ear.

‘There’s a vile person stalking the city and stealing children in the night,’ Arti says, her voice quiet. ‘A person I can only glimpse but not see clearly, because something protects them against my sight.’

The Vizier’s elara ruffles as he whirls around to face the Master of Arms, his twin sister, who sits to his right. ‘Is there any truth to this news?’

General Solar and the Vizier share the same sharp features and dark eyes. She leads the military forces of the Kingdom: the gendars, the guardsmen, and the shotani.

‘I received a report this morning.’ General Solar’s voice is as cold as her brother’s. ‘I am confident that the head of the City Guards will discover and arrest the culprit with speed.’

‘I wish I shared your confidence,’ Arti says, ‘but this is no ordinary child snatcher, to hide from our magic.’

Barasa, the Zu seer, adds, ‘It must be the work of anti-magic.’

The audience gasps, and my eyes land on the crest on the Vizier’s elara. Anti-magic comes from craven bones. No one possesses it outside of the Omaris and the royal family. It isn’t something you can buy. No one has seen a craven in centuries. Not since they slaughtered a legion of the Kingdom’s army in one night.