Oshhe waits in a corner for her next command. I look at his shaved head, the gold rings that line his ears, and I can’t see my father. So much of what makes a person is in their ka, and his is imprisoned somewhere deep inside him. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s always been so kind to Arti, even in the face of her indifference.
“Why do you hate us so much?” I spit.
“Hate you?” Arti frowns. “Don’t be foolish. I don’t hate you.”
I’m left speechless at her perplexed expression after all her crimes.
“I’m disappointed in you, yes.” She wrinkles her nose. “You should be stronger.”
“Disappointed?” The word tastes bitter as I stare at my friend. The horror of what my mother’s done outweighs my relief in finding him. He’s in a deep sleep, and there’s a crooked smile on his lips. Kofi, my friend. The boy who goes out of his way to annoy Rudjek and make me laugh. The boy with a thousand and one fishing tales. I hope he’s dreaming about a wild adventure on the Great Sea—anything but this nightmare. I have to convince Arti to let him go. There must be some good beneath the black ice covering her heart. I want to save them all, but if I can save only one . . . I swallow the bile burning up my throat. I’m awful for thinking it, but if I can only save Kofi, I will.
“He’s at peace,” Arti comments, peering at him too. “They all are. I made sure of it.”
“He’s my friend,” I whisper.
“I know.” Darkness stirs behind her eyes. “You will lose many friends before the end.”
“Please let him go.” I hold her cold gaze.
“I will not have you beg!” Arti snaps, and her magic stills my tongue. “This world is a cruel place, and only the most brutal thrive,” she hisses, glancing to Oshhe. “Between the both of us you should’ve inherited an exceptional talent for magic, but instead . . . you’re weak. You need to be strong to survive what’s to come.”
My mother’s words cut me so deep that the wounds seethe and I know they will never heal. There’s no getting through to her, no changing her mind. She lays a dagger across the top of the altar. It isn’t a stretch to believe that she’ll kill the children with that very knife. I imagine plunging it into her belly instead. My body feels heavy at the thought of killing my mother, but if she won’t see reason, there’s no other way.
“Before,” Arti says, voice as sweet as honeyed wine, “you asked me why children.”
She busies herself at the altar, as if it’s a routine night at the Temple. Now that I know her secret, it stands to reason that this is normal for her. From the looks of the chamber and the way she moves around it, she’s spent much time here. All these years my father and I thought she’d been with the other seers, she’s been in this gods-awful place instead.
She puts a straw doll next to the knife and a bowl of dried herbs and oil—all things used in traditional Mulani rituals. “Do you still want to know why?”
I struggle to speak, but the curse keeps my tongue still. She glances up when I don’t answer, and her magic loosens. I try to make sense of the spells on the walls again and the great serpent. I wipe sweat from my forehead so hard that it leaves a trail of heat across my face. But I can’t wipe away the truth as the pieces fall into place and my mother’s plans become clear. The interlinked spheres, the symbol for binding. Not so different from symbols on the trinkets the charlatans peddle in the market. Powerful Zu symbols, coupled with my mother’s magic and her ironclad will. The serpent, the same as the one carved into my chest. No more guessing. “You’re trying to summon a demon,” I blurt out, hardly able to believe it. “You’re summoning her—the green-eyed serpent from Grandmother’s vision. But why?”
“When Ka-Priest Ren invaded my mind, he saw the entirety of my life.” Arti uses a quill dipped in blood to draw symbols on the doll. “Except my most private memories. At first he found it to be a welcome challenge, but by the end, it frustrated him that he couldn’t see that part of my mind.” She looks up at me again, her eyes absent. “Those memories are the only ones I know to be real. Every other memory before my encounter with Ren reeks of his twisted perversions.
“Do you know what he would’ve learned, had he been able to steal those memories too?” She marks the doll’s forehead in blood. When I don’t answer, she offers, “He would’ve found out that my first memory is of the Demon King whispering in my ear. That when I was a young child, he showed me what the orishas did to him and why. You won’t find that history within these Temple walls.” Arti glances at the ceiling, her voice brittle. “Even so, I was too young to understand. When I left the tribal lands for the Kingdom, I left him behind too. I wanted to experience everything . . . see the entirety of the world. Not only through magic—through my other senses too.
“After Suran’s accusation, Ren brought me to a chamber like this one.” Arti’s eyes hollow out, her words barely audible. “That’s when I truly understood the Demon King’s warning about the orishas. While the Ka-Priest was in the middle of stealing my memories, Re’Mec appeared to demand another Rite of Passage. I begged the sun god for help. I offered him my eternal servitude. But no, he didn’t even spare me a glance.
“Do you think I don’t feel Heka’s presence every blood moon, that I do not hear his call? I choose not to answer. When I needed help, it wasn’t Heka or the orishas who answered me. The Demon King did. Still in his prison, he poured a part of himself into my mind—and that is the only reason I survived Ren.
“Why did I take the children?” Arti stares at them. “I took them out of necessity . . . to give back what the orishas stole from my master and to punish them.” She jerks her face away and turns to Oshhe. “Come, husband. It’s time.”
I glare at my mother so long that my eyes ache. Her words crash against my mind, shattering the fragment of hope that I can somehow get through to her. No, it’s too late for that, too late for reason, too late for pleading. All these years, my mother’s had a connection with the Demon King. I can only guess it’s because of her extraordinary gifts . . . she talks to him, she serves him. He’s in her mind.
My mother’s accomplice . . . is . . . the greatest threat to mortal kind. Could she be wrong about Ka-Priest Ren Eké? Did he plant this fantastical story in her mind? How can she be so sure? It would be better if she is delusional, easier to stomach, but no, my mother is anything but . . . Her ideas of right and wrong are as twisted as her memories.
My father climbs onto the altar and lies flat on his back. Tears slip from the corners of his eyes and hope flares in my chest. He’s still fighting her curse. If he breaks free, he can put an end to Arti—but he doesn’t move a muscle. His tears keep coming as she raises the bowl above his chest and it erupts into flames. His ka may be locked deep inside him, but he hasn’t given up.
“I give these innocents to the Devourer of Souls, Executioner of Orishas,” Arti recites. “Demon King, accept these offerings.”
My mother has turned her back on the orishas and Heka, on her tribe, on the Kingdom. Children’s souls are pure, which makes them powerful. That’s why she needed their kas—to feed them to the worst demon of all. But if the Demon King is still trapped in Koré’s box, then how?