The entire chamber shakes until the ceiling cracks and peels back like flesh skinned from bones. Clumps of wet soil rain down, and a warm breeze sweeps through the tomb. We’re beneath one of the gardens. The moon fills the sky with a soft glow, and the stars move together. A blinding white light descends.
Heka’s presence sucks up all the space in the tomb.
I sit very still for fear that his ka will crush every bone in my body. Heka sees inside my mind. He knows me and I know him. I yearn for his comfort, his closeness. His magic hums in my blood, and invisible tentacles allow me to taste the world for the second time. It’s only in his presence that a sliver of true magic stirs deep inside me, like it did at the Blood Moon Festival. My mind stretches beyond my body, this tomb, this world, time and space. The magic is that of possibilities, of seeking, of knowing the unknowable. I am one with the universe. It’s nothing like my mother’s curse, which aches to strike at the smallest provocation. But I know this feeling won’t last. Heka has already denied me his gift once—deemed me unworthy—and even if I am, I hope that he’ll listen to my plea. He mustn’t help my mother.
Heka, please. Stop her now before it’s too late.
He floats above our heads. His physical form is ever-shifting ribbons of light. My body pulses like a drum, and my ka speaks to Heka. It speaks of suffering, it speaks of endurance. It speaks of hope, it speaks of rebirth.
Stop her, please.
“As the rightful heir to your temple in the tribal lands, I’m the only one who can ask that your debt be repaid in full.” Arti humbles her voice. “In return for sharing our souls, you promised us the full glory of your magic. I, Arti, of Tribe Mulani, hold you to your pact bound by your magic. It’s time for you to keep your promise.”
He must say no. He can’t do anything that she asks. If he sees inside me, then he sees inside her too and knows that her heart is rotten and twisted.
Heka answers in images: a bull-headed man with blood running down his bare chest, his hands bound in chains, his feet aflame. What you want is against the natural order of this world. The consequences will be unimaginable.
Arti raises her voice, undeterred. “It’s my wish to have a child who will be both human and demon, and possess the full glory of your magic. This is what I demand and you cannot refuse.”
A picture of a woman kneeling before an altar appears in my head, her hands chopped off at the wrists. This deed I do unto you will pay my debt, and I will not return when you call. The tribes will be forever lost to me. For what I’ve given of myself, I will not take back, but after this night, I will not give more. We are repaid. The last bit of my hope flees. He’s not going to stop her and, even worse, he’s helping her.
“Good riddance,” groans Shezmu.
This can’t be happening. If Heka will not return to the tribal lands for the blood moon, then he won’t gift magic to future generations. What does this mean for the tribal people? Will the magic they have continue to pass down through the bloodlines or will there be more ben’iks like me? Will mortal kind’s magic become a relic of the past? How can Arti be so selfish to ask such a thing, to make such a sacrifice? And all to release the Demon King, who has no regard for life. The scripts said so . . . but the scripts also said the demons were dead.
“So be it.” Arti speaks with no emotion in her words, no remorse that she’s taken Heka from the tribal people. He could refuse, but he doesn’t. He answers my mother’s whim like an obedient dog. He’s no better than Re’Mec and his Rite of Passage.
A piece of Heka, a ribbon of white light, separates from him and floats down to Arti. I close my eyes, unable to watch this act of desecration. In my mind, Heka shows me lily petals showering down on a sunny day as I lie on the grass along the Serpent River. Rudjek lies beside me and we stare at the brilliant blue sky.
“Be brave, Arrah,” Heka tells me in Rudjek’s voice.
“You could’ve refused her!” I scream. “You’re the only one who can stop her.”
“It is not my place,” he says, his words a soft purr. “My time is over. Now be brave.”
There’s such command in his words, such weight. “I don’t know how to be brave.”
“You must. If you fail,” he whispers, “no one will survive.”
The scene changes to a mountain of broken bodies piled so high that they reach the edge of the sky. Blood rains down on the Kingdom. Puddles of it turn into lakes and lakes into raging rivers.
The green-eyed serpent—my sister—will be the death of us all.
Fram, Orisha of Life and Death
I love my sister. We all love her. Our love for her should never be questioned.
I don’t regret killing her. Perhaps I should have left well enough alone.
But I’m the orisha of life and death.
I give life.
I take it away.
And sometimes I give it back.
Now that bastard has found her.
The others do not know my secret. They cannot know what I’ve done.
The decision to kill our sister wasn’t easy. We lamented over it for decades until we all agreed that she must die. Re’Mec and Koré were the ones to suggest it. They wanted revenge, but it was also a necessity, the lesser of two undesirable choices.
When we took our sister from him, the Demon King unleashed his rage. He loved her. Perhaps too much. She’s the reason he’s immortal. She gave him our gift, but it was not meant for his kind. Immortality changed him.
I remember the boy he was before. When our sister found him dying by the frozen lake. He was such a scrawny thing. Abandoned by his people. She nursed him back to health and fell in love with him.
Love is a dangerous thing, especially among our kind.
Our love is boundless, endless, all-consuming.
But I digress.
Let me start at the beginning.
I killed my sister.
I reached into her chest and snatched her soul from her vessel.
While Koré and Re’Mec and the others battled the Demon King, I found my sister seated upon her throne. When she sensed my presence, she smiled and leaned forward. She knew why I had come. She accepted death. But as I held her beautiful ka in my hands, I couldn’t bring myself to crush it. She always had a kind soul, be it misguided.
I stood with her empty vessel before me. Indecision is my nature, so if I happen upon that state, I pay close attention. Instead of destroying my sister’s ka, I put it in my pocket and told the others that I had ended her. Every now and then I would reach into my pocket and feel the essence of her soul. She’s a thing of firestorms and ashes and lava. How could I let her die when I love her so much?
When I was walking among the humans, I decided to release her ka back into the world without the burden of the past. I did it so she could atone for the suffering her gift to the Demon King has caused. I have watched her reborn over more generations than I can remember. Making a little progress every time.
But now the Demon King has ruined everything. My sister has been asleep for a very long time. When she finally wakes, her wrath will be the death of us.
Nineteen
Arti blames the ground caving in at the Almighty Temple on the people for angering the orishas. She and the seers call for more tithes to restore the beauty of the Kingdom’s most sacred temple. It’s been a full month since then, and rumors have spread through the East Market like wildfire. People say the collapse is a horrible omen. They claim the orisha Kiva is angry at the Kingdom for letting the children go missing. Some even allege to have seen the children’s restless kas roaming the alleys at night. The farmers say the tortured souls have driven their livestock mad. The fishermen blame them for their meager hauls.