“Harmless?” I hiss. “Can’t you see that these people are miserable?”
“This is not my domain!” Koré bares her teeth at me. “Another orisha keeps watch here.”
“Keeps watch while doing nothing,” I spit.
“Something you know much about,” she bites back.
I swallow my retort. “I’m doing what I can.”
“That brings me to the second reason I’m here.” Koré shifts her bag in front of her. She removes a box and hugs it under her arm—keeping it safe. The wooden box is nothing like the one with the Demon King’s ka, which I only now realize isn’t with her.
I rock on my heels as the demon magic stirs in my chest, reminding me that though it may be dormant, it’s not asleep. “Is his soul . . . ,” I gasp, my throat parched.
“It’s safe from your mother for now.” Koré scowls. “I’ve hidden it.” She opens the box, revealing scrolls and bones. “I can do nothing about the Ka-Priestess, but I come bearing gifts. Do you want to get rid of that nasty curse?”
I’ll do anything to break the curse on my father and me. “Yes.”
“It requires a steep price,” Koré warns. “The demon magic will not leave you willingly.”
After the last ritual left me bedridden and took years from my life, I know the risk.
I know the price.
My years in exchange for freedom.
I don’t hesitate to take the box. My fingers tremble as they brush hers, which feel surprisingly human. She glances away, but not before I see the profound sadness in her eyes. “Can you do me a favor?” I swallow the knot in my throat. I’m not afraid to perform the ritual, but I am afraid of failing again. “Can you tell my Grandmother . . . the chieftain of Tribe Aatiri . . . what’s happened? Tell her that I need help.”
“She already knows, Arrah,” Koré says, meeting my gaze again. “She called for me after her first vision of the green-eyed serpent at the Blood Moon Festival.”
When Grandmother mentioned an old friend, I’d never have guessed an orisha. The orishas are not the gods of the tribal lands, but for better or worse, they’re still gods. Once more I’m left reeling.
“The edam will help you, but their time is yet to come,” Koré adds, speaking in riddles again. “You must do whatever you can to delay your mother until they are ready to act.”
“I don’t understand,” I murmur, but by then Koré has faded into the crowd. Grandmother can see across time and space, so has she discovered the right moment to strike? I think of all the times she read the bones and hid their meaning from me. She’d always answer my questions with: The time is not yet right for me to say. Did Grandmother know this would happen and still left me in the dark? If she had and couldn’t stop Arti, what good would it have done to tell me? Some of my frustration deflates. I don’t understand why, no, but I trust Grandmother and I’m relieved that she and the edam have a plan.
When I catch the tail end of the caravan on the outskirts of town, no one seems to have noticed my absence. Sweat pours from my body beneath the oppressive heat and shallow air. Our caravan kicks up so much dust that even my shawl can’t block it. Our trek is silent for hours, save for the donkeys’ mournful brays.
In the far west, crimson mountains press against the horizon. Behind us, a thick haze gathers around Kefu. It forms a near perfect sphere that renders the town invisible. It’s nothing like the green fog that settles in Tamar after a hard rain. The haze wraps around Kefu like a snake curled about its prey. Something tells me that it’s always like that, day or night, no matter the weather. Is it the manifestation of the coalesced demons? We don’t know much about demons, as the orishas intended, and now it makes sense why. The orishas never killed the demon race; they only trapped their kas. And some, like Shezmu, it seems, remain at large in the spirit world, still dangerous.
The laborers stop for a respite, and Oshhe steps outside to stretch his legs. Arti leans over the side of the litter and whispers something to him. Her lips brush his ear, and I cringe inside. Seeing such a rare moment of affection between my parents used to warm my heart. Once, I craved my mother’s attention, and would do anything to win her favor. Now it turns my stomach to even look at her. Someone should wrench her out of her litter and stomp a mud hole in her. As soon as we’re settled in our new home, I’ll find a way to do this ritual and break the wretched bond between us.
I want to believe that my father’s pride allows him to stand up to Arti in small ways. His eyes twitch sometimes. His hands, too. Sometimes he’s so still that I touch his arm to make sure he’s okay. Sometimes he paces. When Arti leans back into the litter, my father tells the laborers that we’re ready to go again. He walks over to Nezi and takes the extra bag she’s been carrying. Then instead of climbing back into the litter, he falls into step with her and she gives him a playful nudge. It all seems so normal on the surface.
No bells signal the passage of time, and the eye of Re’Mec still sits in the same place in the sky. We’ve been walking for at least three or four hours, and the caravan’s pace begins to slow the farther we go. The desert beyond Kefu stretches as far as the eye can see. The sand is endless, and the shifting heat makes it impossible to tell how close we are to the mountains to the west.
Walking beside her donkey, Terra slows until I catch up with her. We’re far enough behind the others that we can talk without being overheard.
“This place feels cursed.” She reaches for the Kiva pendant around her neck.
She’s right. The tribal lands are lush with feather touch magic. Here the magic is heavy. It settles in your bones. A thought strikes me and I stop. Has Arti found a way to tap into the orisha magic that binds the demons?
Terra shields her eyes as she glances at the sky. “My family traveled through deserts, crossed wild lands, and voyaged across the sea. I’ve never seen the sun not move.”
“It’s not the sun,” I realize, finally understanding Koré’s warning. “Time is wrong here.”
To prove my point, when we look behind us again, the sky turns from high noon to purple to pitch-black. It happens in a matter of moments. It should be impossible, but time moves in Kefu at its own pace. After all the hours we’ve been traveling, the town still looks to be a short walk away. I almost think the heat is playing a trick on my mind, but there’s still the smell of fresh water and fish on the air.
“Please tell me you’re seeing this too.” Terra stands completely still, her body rigid. “Tell me that I haven’t lost my mind.” Ahead where the caravan trots forward, the sun is still high noon, and no one else sees the broken sky.
I put a hand on her shoulder. There’s nothing reassuring I can say. “I see it.”
Terra mumbles a desperate plea. “Gods help us.”
When I was little, my father and I prayed together before bedtime. Heka, protect me. Conceal me. Keep me safe. He said that Heka favored those who prayed to him. Now that I’ve seen Heka, heard his words in my mind, watched him turn his back on the tribes, I know it isn’t true. Any prayer that crosses my lips is out of habit and has no real meaning.